The Angel and the Protégé
by UnseemingOwl
Summary: This is the story of what really took pace before and during the scandal of the phantom of the opera. Mostly Kay and ALW inspired, but also with a bit Leroux thrown in it. Rating for later chapters.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_I sit here gazing out of the window in my home. My hands are cold in the early winters chill and I draw my woollen shawl tighter around me. I always feel cold by now, because I know that my death draws closer with every day that passes by, it's only a matter of time._

_Erik and Raoul _

_None of you deserved the sorrow I caused you, I wish I could take that back, and make your lives those of joy, but I' m not able to, forgive me, because I love both of you_

_The story is without a doubt well known too you. It's the story of the disfigured musical genius haunting the awe inspiring Opera Garnier. A love aching soul cast out and turned into a demon by the evils of mankind, the most pitiful man I will ever get to meet. I hope with all my heart that no one will ever be treated like Erik was._

_It's the story of the beautiful young opera singer caught in a tragic love triangle between her mentor and her childhood love._

_It's a tragic story of love, hatred, obsession, jealousy and desire, _

_No one knows this story better than I. I Christine Daae, the woman who was loved by the phantom._

_You've heard the story from Raoul, but in truth the story started many years before his version, it started with the stories my beloved father Gustave Daae told me about the angel of music…_


	2. Father

Chapter 1

Father

The scene could have been picked from a painting in a fairytale book. A girl, about ten years of age was lying in a bed under colourful duvets. A wild mane of chestnut coloured curls, framed a chubby face that already possessed a delicate beauty. A pair of deep blue eyes was disquietingly big in the small child face. Beside the bed sat a strong, broad shouldered man and cleaned a priceless and well kept Stradivarius. Thick flaxen hair framed a kind and calm face, with the same brilliant blue eyes as the girl. Gustave Daae, one of Europe's most honoured violinists. He was a widow man, the couple had been well known for their obvious love for each other, now all that was left of his darling Elsa, was their daughter Christine, who had the same unruly dark curls and the same bright smile.

"Papa will you tell me a story?" Christine's child voice cut across his thoughts.

Gustave looked up and smiled at his daughter. With hands as careful as he held an infant, he tucked the priceless violin into its case again, and leaned over, so his arms were resting at the edge of the bed.

"Of cause, I'll tell you of the angel of music" he said.

The stories of the angel of music were her favourites, and she cuddled herself underneath the duvets with an expectant smile.

"The angel of music is one of God's most loved angels. He lives among the clouds, in a palace of pearls, silver and moonlight. His voice is more beautiful than anything can describe. He walks among the cradles of new born babies, and purrs dust of starlight and moonlight on their faces. It's his gift, the ability to sing, compose or play beautifully, and in time he nurtures his talents under his wings"

Christine's eyes grew even larger as she looked at her father "What does he look like father? Is he very beautiful?"

"Yes he is very beautiful, so beautiful that you will be struck with madness if you see him. That is why genius is so easily turned into madness. The supreme beauty of him will drive you insane"

He reached down and kissed her forehead softly, before stroking her chubby cheek. She returned the gesture by planting a clumsy kiss of his sun tanned cheek.

"Have you said you prayers Christine?" he asked.

"Yes papa" the girl said "but papa will you braid my hair, Madame Bertrand says I must do that, otherwise I will look like a troll in the morning.

"Well that is what you are, my own little forest troll" Gustave grinned, and started to tickle her.

"No papa" Christine shrieked and then writhed and giggled as Gustave mercilessly tickled her.

He stilled, and Christine curled into a ball, and was still hiccupping with laughter.

"Well that's enough for tonight my flicka, you must go to sleep, because Raoul is coming tomorrow, and you promised you would accompany him with your voice when he play's the violin. And afterwards we're going to have a picnic by the sea. Now sit up so I can braid you hair like Madame Bertrand says."

Christine sat up, and Gustave started to comb her long thick curls, before beginning to tame them into a braid.

"Papa, will the angel of music teach me?" Christine asked hopefully.

"Of cause he will darling, he will make sure you will sing like an angel my sweet"

"Will he really?" Christine looked at her father with huge innocent eyes.

Her father looked at her strictly "Didn't I just tell you so? Now go to sleep, you will hear him when he thinks you ready"

"Yes papa, goodnight" Christine said obediently and Gustave tucked her in underneath the duvets.

He extinguished the light in the petroleum lamp, before picking up his violin case and walking to the door.

"Goodnight fair maiden" he said softly and closed the door behind him.

As Christine heard the door click shut, she opened her eyes and looked out of the window to the starry sky. With all the naïve stubbornness Christine was completely confident that she would not go mad by seeing the angel of music. With hopefulness blossoming in her heart, she closed her eyes to sleep, and a content smile crept to her mouth.

flicka: girl in swedish


	3. Christines new guardian

Hey it's me again. Now Christine's father has died, and Madame Giry arrives, I've called her Antoinette, but if that isn't her name please tell me, I'm still reading Susan Kay's novel and I haven't read the original story by Leroux …

Please, please review, I'll be so happy….

Disclaimer: The characters are not created by me, but belong to Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyds Webber…

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Chapter 2

Madame Antoinette Giry sat in the carriage that would take her to Brest, where she would pick up her new foster child. Her long time friend the violinist Gustav Daae had died, and left his only child Christine in her care. Gustav had been one of her best friends, so how could she refuse his wish for his daughter, to be a student at the opera, in which she was the dance instructor. Elsa had been one of her best friends also, so she would with pleasure take this child under her wings. She had a daughter, a few months older than Christine; she would raise them as sisters.

A few hours later she arrived at the little village close to Brest, where Gustav had lived the last year of his live. When the carriage stopped she ignored the driver's outstretched hand and stepped outside herself. She was met outside by a servant.

"Madame Giry?" she young girl asked hesitantly, tears glittering in the corners of her eyes.

"Yes that's me" Antoinette said calmly.

"Mademoiselle Daae is in her room, she has been there since her father's funeral, and she will not come out, not even to eat".

"Take me to the young mademoiselle's room" Antoinette said just as calmly as before, but worry showed in her eyes.

She was let upstairs in the elegant house, to a closed door. Antoinette could hear hoarse sobs from the other side of the door.

She gently knocked at the door "Christine Daae, are you inside?"

"Who are you?" a tearful voice croaked from the other side of the door.

"I'm your new guardian, Antoinette Giry, I great friend of both your mother and your father, you are going to live with me, in the opera house in which I teach".

"Do you work in an opera house?" now there was interest in the hoarse voice.

'Aha, she loves music' Antoinette thought triumphantly 'No wonder, her mother a ballet dancer, and her father a violinist'

"Yes, if you come out and eat some, and take a bath I will tell you about it".

There was a hesitant silence and then "Okay, but you promise you aren't lying?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, if I lie to you".

The sound of a key that unlocked the door sounded, and revealed a pale little girl dressed in a black dress. Antoinette watched her with pity, she had black bags under her eyes, which were red from crying, her skin was white as chalk and the black colour of her mourning dress didn't suit her.

The maid had already disappeared to make dinner for her young mistress.

After eating her dinner and taking a hot bath, Christine was not that pale anymore, this pleased Antoinette, and she started to tell the girl about her new home.

"I work in the Parisian opera, as the dance instructor. You can study any part of the arts that are taught in at the opera. Your father told me you could sing excellently, and you have inherited your mother slim body, which would serve you good if you want to be a dancer. And I have a little daughter about your age, she's called Megeara, but all calls her Meg, and she has been looking forward to seeing you".

"Really?" Christine asked with sparkling eyes.

"Yes, she's convinced that once you two get to know each others, you will be like sisters".

Christine smiled "I'd like that"

Antoinette hid a smile, and then took a sip of her lemonade. The girl was definitely cheering up.

"When are we going to Paris?" Christine asked.

"Well, we need to sort the things here, and do you want the house to be sold, or do you want to keep it?"

Christine's lips quivered "I don't know, it is my home".

Antoinette reached over and stroked the girl's cheek. Her own gentle gesture surprised herself as much as it surprised the girl. Antoinette's gentleness has died with her husband years ago, but her ached with pity for the girl in front of her.

"We can put it to rent, but you continue to own it, but we must sell a lot of your things, these money will of cause be put on an account for your use, when you turn eighteen".

Christine just stared at the woman with her mouth open in a silly fashion.

"Err that sounds reasonably" Christine said confused, and Antoinette had to hide a smile.

"Is there something you know, you want to keep?"

"Fathers violin and mothers swan necklace"

"All right, but we will go trough the house later, but for now you have to go to bed Christine"

"Yes Madame Giry" Christine said and walked upstairs with a quick smile for Antoinette.

Antoinette sat in deep thoughts. She had educated herself to be a ballet dancer together with Christine's mother. They had been the best of friends. The day Gustav came into their live, they had also been rivals. Gustav had chosen Elsa, and Antoinette met her husband two years later resulting in her darling daughter Meg.

She sighed heavily and slowly made her way to the guestroom, what would time bring with the daughter of two such talents under her wings?


	4. A New Home?

Tada… Chapter four. Christine arrives to the opera and meets Meg and Erik is introduced in this chapter….

Disclaimer: Nope the characters don't belong to me, but to ALW, GL, SK and JS, I wouldn't be writing this story if I did…

PLEASE REVIEW! I'LL BE SO HAPPY

**Regan X:** I imagine I will, but possibly there will be something from Susan Kays novel to.

And yes Raoul (the twat) will appear in this story. And thank you for your compliments.

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Chapter 3

The Carriage halted in front of the pompous building that was the opera Populaire. Antoinette stepped out with all the grace of a long trained dancer. Christine stumbled out of the carriage like a clumsy puppy. Antoinette smiled at her, the girl was adorable.

Christine stared at the amazing golden and white building that shone in theafternoon light. This palace of song, dance and music where to be her new home.

"Come along Christine, don't just stand there" Antoinette said and gave Christine a little push. The girl quickly hurried to the hall with Antoinette.

The hall was magnificent, white marble floors and golden walls".

"Mama" a cry of joy sounded at the top of the stairs and a girl about Christine's age with golden hair and blue eyes ran down the stairs.

"Meg my darling" Antoinette patted her daughter's cheek and ruffled her golden hair.

Christine stood stiffly beside Antoinette, and tried to fight back the tears that had formed in her eyes. She missed her father so much. She wanted nothing more than to sit on his knee and hear his stories and touch the calloused skin of his chin.

"Are you Christine?" Meg asked curiously and looked at the other girl with sparkling blue eyes.

Christine liked the girl in the very instant. The pert nose and the mischievous glint in the blue eyes told that she was a typical prankster.

"Yes, I'm Christine" she replied with a smile.

Meg threw her arms around the other girl. "I've been looking so much forward to see you Christine, now mother is your guardian, se will be just like sisters.

Christine hugged Meg back, it was impossible not to be affected by the girl's jolliness

"Meg I trust, that you can show Christine around here, I must leave, I have much to attend to. Don't worry Christine you're in good hands" Antoinette said and walked away with a faintly distant look on her face.

"Of cause I can mother" Meg said and eagerly grabbed Christine's arm.

Meg dragged the slightly befuddled girl with her into the corridors of the employers. The corridors of the actors, chorus girls, dancers and singers were a labyrinth full of song, laughter, music and colourful costumes. Christine was deeply fascinated and stared with huge eyes on everything until they finally reached the dormitories of the youngest girls.

"You're going to have the bed next to mine" Meg said and helped Christine with her baggage.

The rest of the day the two girls spend around in the opera house, Meg kept Christine's senses busily occupied, so she had no opportunity to think of her father or anything she had left behind.

Meg knew all the people in the opera and proudly introduced her new friend to all of them. Christine became completely confused; she couldn't contain all the impressions.

"How does a person ever learn to walk around in this place without getting lost?" Christine asked as they walked back to the dormitories.

Meg smiled the teasing smile Christine already knew. "You'll learn it very quickly".

"I find that very hard to believe" Christine muttered tiredly and rubbed her cheek.

All of a sudden Christine heard something, a faint ghostly melody of magnificent beauty. She grabbed Meg's arm and let her gaze wander curiously around in hallway.

"Listen Meg, can you hear anything?"

Meg glared at Christine with a confused look, but then her expression changed from confused to anxious.

"It's the phantom, it must be".

"What phantom" Christine asked confused.

"Shh Christine, I've never heard him before, but it must be him. Come along we must follow the music"

Highly puzzled Christine followed the other very eager girl, the ghostly tunes became louder and finally they reached an abandoned dressing room. The music stopped, and the room was empty.

"Oh" Meg said very disappointed.

"What is all this about?" Christine asked with her hands in her sides.

"I'll tell you when we get back to the dormitory, mother will kill us if we're not back before the lights are turned off" Meg said with a quick look at the watch that hung on the wall. Meg grabbed her arm, and together they ran towards the dormitory.

When they reached it all the other girls were undressing and climbing into bed. Meg and Christine quickly followed their example, and Christine climbed underneath her covers.

"Now who is this phantom Meg?" Christine asked sleepily.

"It's the phantom of the opera" Meg said with a thrilled smile "I can't believe that we've heard him"

"Who?"

"The phantom of the opera. He's the ghost that haunts the opera. Sometimes you can hear him play, like we did tonight. He gives Lefevre orders through strange letters that mystically appears in his office, even when it is locked, and he is the most hideous creature one can see before their eyes"

Christine shivered with delight; she and her friend Raoul had often told each others ghost stories at their attic or in some of the abandoned rooms at the Chagny estate. Suddenly she grew sad, she had also left him when she travelled to Paris, but then again she hadn't seen him since she was eight.

"Girls, I turn the lights out now" Madame Giry's voice sounded.

The lights were turned of and Meg carefully lifted her head to tell Christine more of the phantom, but saw that Christine was already asleep. With a smile she lay down to sleep.


	5. I Heard An Angel Singing

Hey everybody, I just finished Susan Kay's novel, it was so sad, I cried in the end, I feel so sorry for all of them, maybe except Charles, but wow, if I was half as good a writer as she, then I would be very pleased indeed…

I've also just seen the movie for the second time. Oh my, it's just so fantastic, and Gerard B. is HOT! And I just think he has a fantastic voice. I love it, so passionate. I've always thought that it was strange that Christine chose Raoul, but in the movie it's just even harder. He's so sexy that somebody should arrest (Grins) "Mr. Butler it is 8.30 pm and you are arrested for being way to sexy". (I know it, I'm really lame)

**Disclaimer:** No It's still not mine, I wouldn't write this if it were now would I?

Chapter 4, and yes Erik appears, dum da da dum, no nothing scary about it really.

**Sumi-chan the great**: I'm very glad for your compliments, it is always nice to know that your stories are appreciated.

**ReganX**: As I've decided it, Raoul is at a boarding school in Britain. And well I imagine them to be about ten years old, I know I put Christine to be seven, but I've decided that she should be a bit older. I'm glad you like my version of Meg.

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Chapter 4

A ghostly voice of an angel

Time passed scarily quickly in the opera, Christine started to train with the other girls, and she quickly made progresses. She had the same slim and elegant body as her mother, which were perfect for the arts of ballet.

At thirteen Christine was good enough to join the team of dancing and singing girls, and she had the eyes of the lead soprano, the horrible diva La Carlotta on her. Carlotta was horribly jealous of every girl there seemed to have the seed for a voice greater than her own. Christine often became the victim for Carlotta's evil tongue. The Prima Donna was a proud, not very intelligent woman, except when it came to the intrigues of the opera, and she was horribly vain.

Christine was sitting in the chapel praying, when she heard a soft haunting melody from a piano. She stood up and walked out of the chapel, with a wrinkle of wonder in her forehead. She followed the music as in a trance; her feet carried her to the lowest levels, which were practically never used. She came to a door, completely sure that whoever played the music was behind the door, but as she stood before it the music stopped.

Christine opened the door and looked into the room. It was an old abandoned music room; the colours on the walls were faded because of the thick layer of dust. She frowned as she saw the piano, it was shining as if it was new, and fresh red candles stood on the polished surface.

She walked to the piano, her feet made small clouds of dust rise from the floor. She sat down at the piano and looked at the notes. It was hastily scribbled down, and she looked at it. It was far to advanced for her modest abilities to play the piano, but as she closed her eyes she could almost hear the music.

She started singing the song that accompanied the notes

"Hide our sword now wounded knight!  
Your vainglorious gasconnade  
brought you to your final fight  
for your pride, high price you've paid!"

Suddenly it felt like someone was watching her, and she whirled around. No one was there.

"Hello is anyone there?"

The room was silent; she felt cold and rose from the room. She looked around.

"_Christine_" a ghostly voice said.

Her eyes widened, and with a slight gasp she fled the room.

Erik watched the girl as she sat down to the piano. She had unruly dark curled hair and a pair of huge blue eyes. He had learned who she was months ago. Christine Daae, daughter of one of Antoinette's old friends, and the fabulous violinist, Gustav Daae who had played in the opera several times. Antoinette had brought the little girl with eyes full of sorrow. Through the months he had felt a strange connection to her because he saw some of his own solitude and sorrow in the aquamarine depths. He had often watched her as she sat in the chapel talking to her father's spirit. The depths of her sorrow were heart breaking, she had been very attached to her father, he had heard her talking to little Meg Giry about him.

She scanned the notes, and then closed her eyes. Erik froze as she began to sing a part of his opera "Don Juan Triumphant". He closed his eyes in pleasure, perfect tone perfect pitch, but he had never heard anyone that sung with less passion, even Carlotta sung with passion. Christine sung like a perfect constructed robot oh he would long to make her sing with passion. Make her the perfect opera singer, the perfect partner for his own voice.

He was sure; he had found the girl, who would be perfect in the role of Aminta. Perfect when he had first taught her to sing with the passion the role required.

Suddenly she stopped singing and opened her eyes and glanced around in the room. He whispered her name.

"Christine"

She gasped and fled the room; he had without a doubt scared her.

He would teach her, he would turn her voice perfect. He would make her his, and then he would never have to be lonely again.

-A few weeks later-

Meg burst into the dormitory.

"Oh Christine, You've got to come quickly, Carlotta has got one of her fits" she said and jumped up and down.

"Really" Christine grinned. She had been in the opera long enough to see several of Carlotta's fits; usually they were quite amusing, when one didn't become the victim of the Spanish woman's wild temper.

She followed Meg to the actor's corridor and watched as the prima Donna was screaming and yelling.

"What happened this time" Christine whispered.

Meg grinned viciously "Someone put a mouse into her dresser.

Christine gave a snort of laughter "Meg you didn't?"

"Oh yes I did, she was so horribly mean to mother last week, someone just had to take revenge"

Carlotta suddenly whirled around, and her eyes fell on Christine, who hadn't been quick enough to get out of the way. Her eyes narrowed and a cruel smile spread on her face.

'Oh my' Christine thought terrified 'I'll be her scapegoat'

"Oh and who have we here, the little orphanage girl who wants to be a star"

"Miss Carlotta" Christine said with hurt and anger in her eyes, her hands clenched into fists.

Carlotta clearly saw the emotions in the girl's eyes. Truth was that she was slightly afraid for the Daae girl. She had heard her sing, and Carlotta was not as stupid as people thought. Well at least when it was about the intrigues of show business and her rivals, and if that girl developed her singing voice, Carlotta was frightened that Daae would be a powerful rival to the throne of the opera. The diva bored deeper.

"You may be the daughter of stars, but you have received none of your parent's talent. You are nothing but a sparrow who wants to be a nightingale, your voice even sounds a bit like a sparrow being choked. I am the star of this opera" fury turned Carlotta's cheeks red, and she breathed heavily.

Tears formed in Christine's eyes, and she stamped in the floor "You vicious Prima Donna, I hate you" and with those words she fled, ignoring Meg's yelling.

She ran down the corridors of the opera house in blind rage. That mean, mean woman, she hated her. Hated her pompous pride and sharp tongue. How could that woman know exactly what to say to hurt her the most?

Finally she came to the chapel and collapsed on the floor; she cried in anger and hammered her fists in the floor in hysterics.

"I hate that vile prima Donna, I hate her, and I hope her voice turns into the croaking of a toad" she cried.

Christine flew up, as she heard the whisper from the music room.

"_Christine_"

Erik watched in surprise as Christine burst in the room, crying and completely hysteric. She hammered in the floor and yelled about Carlotta, he felt angry. How dared that matron taunt the little angel? But then he realised, that this would be the perfect time for him to get under her skin, the barriers of her mind was low in her state of hurt and fury. He turned his voice ghostly and mysterious, and for the second time, Erik spoke her name.

"Christine"

Christine stared around in the room wildly with red eyes puffed from crying.

"Who's there?" she asked shakily.

She closed her eyes in pleasure as she heard a voice in the chapel, singing to her. I sung of solitude and sorrow, and Christine's throat tightened. It was the most beautiful voice she'd ever heard. A deep tenor, rich and soft as velvet, without a doubt male. Christine started to weep again, it filled her mind, breaking down the walls she had build up around the memories of her father. It all flooded her mind, and she was finally able to cry out the sorrow of her fathers dead properly. When her crying it changed into soothing and calm tones, it was almost like she was cuddled into a pair of strong arms. She felt more comforted and safe than ever.

"_Christine_" it said again, alluring and bewitching.

Suddenly it struck her. The Angel of Music, no mortal creature was able to have a voice like that.

"Faceless one, are you the angel of music?" she asked breathlessly.

"Your teacher and guardian, I've come here to train the gift I have given you" the voice filled room, and seemed to come from everywhere.

"My teacher?" Christine asked in disbelief.

"Yes your teacher, I will teach you to sing like an angel".

"You will train my voice?" she was filled with awe.

"Yes, but you must always obey me Christine, I will not tolerate disobedience" His voice was sharp and strict.

"I will always belong to you my Angel" Christine whispered with devotion.

If he would teach her how to sing just half as beautiful as him, she would give him her soul. She would always serve him, and always obey him.

And so it began….

* * *

This has been a really hard chapter to write, and I'm not completely satisfied with it, actually I hate it. I has cost me blood, sweat and tears. Okay not exactly, but I have been very frustrated with this chapter.

Please tell me what I could do better; I will be thrilled if you could give advice, as to how I can do this better.

Do you see that little purplish bluish button in the bottom of the screen?

Submit a review please. It will make me so happy….

**_Your faithfully EMJ_**.


	6. A great tutor

Muhahahah I triumph, it seems like that people actually like my last chapter, even though I hated it.

Sorry it has been so long since my last update, but I've been busy with Danish and chemistry rapport plus learning my lines from out school comedy.

I should probably write Erik's timeline. He's at Gerard Butler age, which is in the mid thirties. He wears the half mask, and not the full mask from Kay's novel.

He hasn't made the opera house, but fled into the dungeons after him leaving Persia. He ran away as nine, just as in Kay's novel. He has also been in Rome. I've cut away the long period of time that passes while he helps Garnier building the opera. Erik simply just flees into the catacombs and makes himself a home. So that I think was the important time orientation.

**Disclaimer: **No I don't own it, why must I rub salt into the wound, just imagine how rich one would be.

**Countess Alana:** I'm very flattered, I've tried to update quickly for your sake. Okay that it not entirely true, but thank you.

**Maeve of the nile:** Thank you for all your encouragement, I really appreciate it.

**Arent Inman**: Sweet honey, I'm very glad for your funny and great comments on my work dear friend, I'll tell you when the next update is ready.

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Chapter 5

A great tutor

He was a very strict and demanding tutor, but Christine didn't care. He was everything her father had said the Angel of music would be. With a voice so beautiful that it was able to make her cry, and he made her song fly higher and higher and let her search the farthest barriers of her talent. She was happier in those uncomplicated days, than she had been since her father had died. It was so simple. She trained with the other girls in the opera, and she trained with her angel. Her week consisted of training, fooling around with Meg, and the few other friends she had made in the opera house and on Sundays she went to church. The best part of it all was, when he sung her to sleep every night. Soft lullabies that made her feel so safe and loved.

It was before all the complications. It started so innocent, just his name, how was the girl able to know that it was just the beginning.

It was very clear to Christine that he was losing patience; she could hear it in his voice. Finally he interrupted her hoarse voice.

"Christine, you are not concentrating, what is with you today?" his voice was mildly accusing, but not angry.

"Nothing, I just didn't sleep well last night".

Christine was normally an excellent liar, but it just didn't worked with her angel, he always saw right trough her.

"Don't lie to me Christine, you know it doesn't work".

"I'm sorry master" Christine said and bowed her head.

He sighed "What is it Christine"

"It's just, I don't know your name, and even angels have names" she said shyly, afraid he would be angry with her.

Erik hesitated, but then gained his senses, what would it change if she had a name to call him. In fact he didn't like her to call him Angel; it just reminded him of his deception of her.

"My name is Erik" he breathed.

"Erik" she repeated as if his name was prayer, he smiled softly. He cared about her; she was a sweet and innocent. And as she couldn't see him, she trusted him, and she didn't stare at him with disgust.

He knew that if he wanted her as his own, she would one day have to see him. If they were married, he couldn't wear his mask all the time. He sincerely hoped that she would get used to his horrible face. 'Now don't think of that anymore, concentrate about her teaching'

Christine felt like she had been given the most precious gift. His name. Erik. She repeated it to herself. Erik, the name of her angel and master. She felt herself looking more and more forward to her lessons each time she had been with him. Strange as it may be, she longed for his gentle critique.

"Stand straight Christine, relax in your shoulders. No hold that tune longer and stretch the words, form them, so they suit you, not the other way around".

His voice was always calm and controlled, except for when he sang to her. All the emotion in the music could be heard in his voice. He didn't sing to her that often, but when he did she fell into a state of peaceful bliss. She could sit for hours just listening to his voice, mesmerized by its beauty, but slowly as she grew older Christine started to find her relationship with her teacher unsatisfying. She wanted desperately to see him. Just once see his ethereally beautiful face, but when she asked him he became angry and left with harsh word, and left her filled with shame.

"Your earthly desire disappoints me Christine, I have given you my voice, you won't have any need to see my face".

Erik was pacing the floor in front of the organ. How could he have been so stupid as to think that she actually wouldn't care about she couldn't see him. Lucia hadn't, the khanum had demanded him to remove his mask. Women grew curious when they heard the beauty of his voice. They wanted to see the man. It had cost Lucia her life and made the young odalisque reject him, which led to her execution.

After he had finally gathered his own self confidence again he went to the chapel. Christine sat on the floor with her green skirts around her. Her chestnut curls covered her face like a curtain.

"Christine" he whispered.

A thrill of joy went trough Christine's body as she heard his voice. That voice that brought her to a level of extreme bliss.

Her head snapped up "Master, I am so sorry I shouldn't have asked to see you, you have given me so much, I can't ask for more.

Erik just stared at her. Why hadn't he noticed her beauty before? Her blue green eyes sparkling with pleasure and shame. Her nervous smile was incredibly adorable. The low cut dress revealed a firm and soft cleavage. His mouth went dry.

"Master" her eyes were confused and nervous "Are you still mad with me?"

"No Christine, I'm sorry you didn't deserve my anger. You are so young"

"Oh master, I'm so glad, I was afraid I would never hear you again. That you hated me"

"Oh no Christine I could never hate you" he breathed and she shivered with an unknown delight as she heard his soft voice. It held emotions she couldn't place, it had never sounded that way before.

"Should I start on my scales?" her face was filled with pleasure and the well known admiration.

"No I think I will sing to you Christine".

Her expectant smile lit up her stunning innocent face, and he barely stopped himself from choking audible. He started to sing softly and tempting.

Christine was filled with the wonderful feeling of bliss as he started to sing to her. His voice was so much different that it used to be. She began to feel strangely restless, something she never became when he sung to her. His intoxicating voice sung of love and desire, desperate longing for a young girl and fierce passion. A pleasurable heat started to radiate between her thighs, embarrassed she pressed her legs tighter together, to relieve the ache in her lower regions. Christine shifted on the floor, and she could feel her cheeks flushed pink and she bowed her head so he wouldn't she her face lit by emotions she didn't even understand herself. As the ache grew unbearable, his voice suddenly stopped singing. The only sound in the chapel was the ruffling of her skirts and her slightly panting breathing. Christine lifted her face and scanned the chapel wildly, but she knew instinctively that he was gone.

He had left her life once again without no notion as to, and if he came back

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It's crap I know, but I swear the next chapter gets better…. Don't abandon me because of one bad chapter, I beg you… Look out for the next chapter, I'm counting to get a lot of time to write in, since my winter holiday starts on Friday. YAY! So watch out for the next chapter… REVIEW PLEASE! 


	7. Aftershocks

Yes the next chapter, it's hard to write, but I'm much more satisfied with this one than the last, please keep reviewing, it really helps a lot to know, that someone like this story. Cause if none do, there is no reason for keeping up the writing.

**Disclaimer:** No for goodness sake, I don't own it!

**TheGoddessofDeath:** Wow, thank you for your review, it was just what I needed, thank you very much.

**Cap'n of the Deep: **thank you, I'm glad you think I'm a great writer….

**Elanor Ainu:** Glad you like it, I'm hoping I will continue to make it better for each chapter.

Dum dada dum, this chapter will be R rated in the end…. Hehehehe….. So if you're not into this stuff skip the last section/paragraph

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Chapter 6

Aftershocks

Erik stormed trough the catacombs, cursing himself wildly again and again. Christine was young and innocent; she did not deserve to be prey to his lust. It had been a horrible deed to use his voice to gain that kind of control over her. Although it had filled him with a sickening feeling of satisfaction as he saw her flushed cheeks and her petite form shifting restlessly on the floor. It had filled him with the desire to take her, a desire he knew he would now have to quench if he saw her again.

His voice was a gift, it was powerful, and had the effect of sorcery. If he had really wanted to, he could have seduced her this night.

No! He furiously threw his cape on the floor in his lair. She would succumb to him happily one day, one day she would love him for what he was, and he wouldn't have to use his sorcerer voice. He sat down at the organ and pounded the tangents violently; the pipes of the organ gave a squeal of delight. His fingers danced across the ivory tangents with a harshness he had never played with before. Possessing haunting tunes left the organ pipes.

Why! Why did she have to be that beautiful? Why did she have to be so complete in every way?

How could he ever think that she would one day long for him, as he longed for her? Who could any woman ever desire the touch of a monster? Deformed on both his face and his soul. Erik rose from the piano screaming like a wild animal, his strong fingers grabbed a small marble statue that stood at the organ. He threw it to the wall and it smashed to pieces. He yanked down the red cloth from one of the mirrors and tore the mask of his face. His face showing in all it's repulsive deformity.

'Look at your self Erik, what woman will ever desire you when you possess a face like that?' his own mind screamed to him.

"_Why does a man, as handsome as you wear a mask?"_ echoes of the past. Lucia before she had died. Lovely Lucia who had so desperately wanted to see what lied beneath the mask. Lucia who had died because of her own curiosity

Handsome? His hand slowly made it to the unblemished side of his face. Could she have been right? 'No! STOP! Stop this Erik; you are too old to be fooling yourself like that. You are a deformed monster and nothing more'

He covered the unmerciful mirror and collapsed into a chair. He buried his face in his hands.

"Why Christine?" he whispered into the cold dampness of the lair.

Christine sat alone in the chapel after he had left her. The strange heat between her legs lingered.

"Master please come back" she almost chanted in the abandoned chapel. Her voice hoarse and her sobbing regularly interrupted her pleading.

He was mad at her, she was sure of that. Mad at her for her despicable mortal reaction to his singing., but then why had he sung to her like that? With a voice like the sweetest sin. Had it been a test? Had she failed it? Was she no longer worthy of his teaching? All the questions made her head spin, and filled her with confusion. His voice had awakened feelings that she hardly understood.

Finally she gathered her skirts around her, and left the chapel.

As in a trance Christine made it to the dormitory, she threw herself on her bed, feeling more depressed than ever. She sobbed helplessly in her pillow.

"Christine, you will never guess…" Megs voice faded as she saw her friend lie on her bed with her face buried in it.

"Christine are you all right?"

"Yes I'm fine Meg" Christine replied.

Meg wrinkled her forehead, had Christine been crying, or was it just the pillow that made her lovely voice thick?

"Well the rehearsals start soon" Meg was hesitant.

Christine groaned, the last thing she was in the mood for, was Antoinette's sharp eyes, her guardian noticed everything. She forced herself to rise from the mattress and a fake smile found it's way onto her face.

"Then let's go" Christine said in a way to jolly voice.

Meg inspected the curly haired girl. Christine had been crying, her eyes were all red and puffy. Had she been victim to one of Carlotta's cruelties once again? She opened her mouth to ask, but something in Christine's face stopped her. With a shrug of her shoulders she made it to the stage with Christine.

Christine stared at the ceiling above her head; she shifted restlessly in her bed. Antoinette had thankfully not asked her uncomfortable questions that afternoon, which she was thankful for.

The moonlight shined into the room, and she could hear Erik's voice in her mind. So soft and alluring, singing to her of unknown longings and the flames of desire. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. All around her was quiet, she could hear the other girls' peaceful breathing, and the faint noise of the people in the street, but for her inner ear she could hear her angel's voice from that afternoon.

The strange, but pleasurable heat started to tingle in her body once again. His singing penetrated her with its beauty. Filled with a curiosity she didn't understand her hands travelled down her body. Her graceful neck, her firm breast. She gasped as she grazed her nipples. She closed her hands around them, letting her hands being filled with the soft flesh. Her nipples hardened painfully against the palms of her hands. Her mind began to conjure up thoughts. It was her angel touching her and not herself. His voice singing and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. With cheeks blushing with embarrassment she pulled the covers of her bed over her head. Christine's inexperienced hands travelled further down her slim body. As her hands made the first contact with the flesh of her womanhood an explosive gasp escaped her lips. A pleasure unlike anything she had ever felt before filled her body. With an eager curiosity her nimble fingers investigated the secret place between her legs and soon she found herself rocking against the thrusts of her fingers. Suddenly her entire body stiffened and her body flooded with a fantastic heat. She collapsed on the bed completely stunned at what had just happened.

Her cheeks was burning with shame at the thoughts she had just had of her angel and just before sleep overtook her she whispered: "Forgive me angel"…

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For those of you who don't know who Lucia is. She is a figure from Susan Kay novel. She is the daughter of Erik teacher in the crafts of masonry.

No let me change my first note. I actually love this chapter. Is it just me?

Leave a review please…. It means so much to me… Just a few words of encouragement can make my day...


	8. Somthing must be done Erik

I know it has been a long time since I last updated, and I'm sorry, but my motivation has just been horrible lately, and I almost had a nervous breakdown because of something about high school election, but anyway here it is.

By the way, I told you that Raoul was at a English boarding school, but I'm reading Leroux's novel for the moment, and I saw he was at a seamanship academy, so that's what I've chosen for him instead.

**Cap'n of the Deep**: Thank you.

**TheGoddessofDeath**: I love you man, your reviews really give me a solid kick in the arse to continue this story. I try to write as fast as I can, but it's difficult.

**Alexa: **Thank you very much.

**Myself: **Yeah well, I know that it has been a long time, but I mention the reason in the top.

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_**Chapter 7**_

_**Something must be done Erik**_

Meg watched in worry as Christine grew paler and thinner for every week that passed by. All the light went out of her wonderful eyes, and her heart was not in the training any more. She had always been a serious girl, but now she didn't even smile anymore.

Antoinette watched this also, and she grew more and more worried. She knew very well who was teaching her foster daughter, and as much as she cared for Erik she was worried for Christine. She knew very well what Erik was capable of doing when he was provoked. Antoinette herself had experienced Erik violent temper several times. She stared at herself in the mirror as she fumbled with her hair needles. She should have contacted Erik weeks ago, but she was scared to. She cursed her own cowardice, but Erik was terrifying when he was angry.

"Mother" Meg's voice sounded from behind her.

Antoinette turned around and saw her young daughter standing in the doorway. Meg couldn't help a snigger as she saw her mother, with the needles poking out from between her lips. Meg bit her lips, she was afraid she was afraid that she would be told of. She hated when her mother used her strict and sharp tongue. Yet she admired her mother more than she admired any other person. She even admired her more than she admired Christine.

"Mother do you know what's wrong with Christine? She just looses weight and grows paler, and now she says she don't want to come to the masquerade party at Saturday, and we've have talked about that for months" she said carefully.

Meg had been really disappointed when Christine said no, because she had promised to by her side, if Adrien, who Meg was in love with, would say no to dance with her. Meg lifted her blue stare to her mother's calm brown eyes.

"I think I might know what is wrong with her Meg" Antoinette said after removing the pins form her mouth.

"What is it then?" Meg asked with eagerness mixed with worry.

Antoinette smiled sadly "I can't tell you Meg I'm sorry"

Meg walked to her mother with an injured face.

"Mother she is practically my sister, I am worried about her"

Antoinette reached out and stroked Meg's cheek. Meg jerked at the unexpected caress "I know my sweet, but I just can't tell you"

Meg opened her mouth to object again, but Antoinette cut her of. "Now Meg listen to me, if Christine want to tell you, she will, I won't tell it for her"

Meg looked defeated and Antoinette patted her hand.

"Will you help me with my hair, you are good at it".

Meg sighed and started to fasten her mother's dark blonde hair with the pins, and finally covering it with a net decorated with green pearls.

"Now just be there for Christine, I think that is all you can do for her right now" Antoinette smiled and draped a shawl over her shoulders.

"I must go to see someone; I probably won't be back until tonight".

"Where are you going Maman?"

"You don't have to worry about that Meg" Antoinette said sharply.

With those words as explanation to her daughter she disappeared from the room, leaving Meg in deep thoughts. Her mother was hiding something, what exactly she did not know. But her mother was certainly hiding something

Antoinette went to the dressing room and searched the mirror for the tiny button that would free the mirror façade and she was able to push the mirror aside and walk into the cold hallway that let to the catacombs. For a minute she stood still in the doorway, almost in a trance like state. What would he do to her if he was upset with Christine? A cold gush of air hit Antoinette and she shook her head, she was doing this for Christine whom she loved as her own daughter. With a deep breath she walked into the deep cellars, closing the mirror door behind her.

As she closed in on the musical sanctuary her friend had created himself under the opera, she heard the haunting tunes of his organ. The music hit her like a club, and for a moment the music overwhelmed her, she laid her hand on the wall, letting it support her weight. This music was so full of frustration and anger that her fear returned with full force. For a few seconds she stood unmoving, a battle going on between her fear and her need to protect Christine. She wildly fought the instinct in her that screamed at her to leave this place. Finally she got herself under control.

'Remember you are doing this for Christine, she doesn't deserve to suffer because of your cowardice'.

She forced herself to move on; she strode her way along a very small path that ran trough the channel. As she came to the underground lake she had to step out into the water. It was cold, and the part of her body that wasn't under water broke out in goose bumps. She reached the gate and looked inside Erik's lair. She could see Erik that sat at the organ and played at the instrument wildly, his entire body moving with his fierce pounding on the instrument. The music surrounded her, suffocating her with its force, beating against her every sense.

"Erik" she yelled, desperate to make him stop with the angry and hateful music.

She felt as if she was able to breathe as the music ceased, he spun around and stared at her. Even from her distance she could feel the madness and anger in his gaze.

"Antoinette" he said, his voice was hoarse.

He slowly walked to the handle that lifted the gate, and the gate heaved creaking and dripping with water. She stumbled into the lair, and stopped abruptly at the sight of him.

He was standing at the stairs looking hard at her. His hair was wild and he wore no mask, the horror of his face free to see. His shirt was open and revealed his sweaty chest. He was the exact opposite of the cool and controlled man he always were. Madness shone from his golden green eyes. Antoinette was not quite sure whom she feared the most. The madman, who stood before her now or the icily gentleman. His radiance was so powerful she lost her breath.

"What can I do for you Madame" his tone of voice was harsh and mocking.

She walked to him, and looked him in the eyes. His eyes were a whirlwind of emotions. Antoinette opened and closed mouth before she finally stuttered "I've come to talk about Christine"

Erik's body turned rigid and his eyes narrowed.

"Who is Christine?" he asked with indifference, but his eyes betrayed him.

"Don't Erik. You know very well who she is; you have been teaching her for a long time now. I love her as my own, and I will not tolerate that you abuse her like this" Antoinette said angrily.

Without warning and faster than she could register, Erik grabbed her throat. She choked and clawed his fingers.

"Don't you ever dare say that again Antoinette. I would never ever harm Christine" his voice was low and threatening.

"Then why doesn't she sleep Erik" Antoinette spat "Why does she looses weight, why doesn't she feel any pleasure in the dancing and singing. Can you tell me that?" as she spoke his grip on her throat tightened and her last sentence left her lips as a choke.

Erik's insane anger melted away and was replaced by guilt. He let go of Antoinette's throat and she felt to the ground coughing. She rubbed her throat, knowing the imprint of his fingers would soon be there. She looked up and saw him sitting on the stairs; rubbing his face with the graceful fingers that minutes before had been around her throat in a murdering grip.

"What is wrong with her" he mumbled.

"I hoped you would be able to tell me that Erik" Antoinette rasped.

"I haven't had anything to do with her the last three months" Erik snapped, a slight blush coloured his cheek.

Antoinette took in the blushing, and stared at him suspiciously. "Why is that Erik?"

"There were some awkward circumstances" he replied, his voice shook slightly.

"Then you must get these thing sorted out with her. I don't like to see Christine growing thinner and paler for each day that passes by. I do not know what kind of sorcery you use on her, but I will not have her suffer".

He rose violently, turning his back to his friend.

"I don't wish that for her either, but how can I return to her as her teacher again. After that…." his voice faded.

"You must do something, she is withering Erik. I don't care what, but you must do something" Antoinette said and heaved herself from the ground.

Erik's tense shoulders relaxed and he turned towards the woman. Pain filled his eyes, and something Antoinette had never seen before, but she identified it quickly as love. She suppressed a gasp. He loved Christine, by the dear God in heaven. What a blessing, and what a curse. The love a musical genius, but Erik hardly gave anything away without payment, what would Christine have to give as payment?

Erik sat silently after Antoinette had left. She was right; he had to do something, but what? After the fatal day three months ago he had been so ashamed and angry at himself. He hadn't even left his lair; he hadn't known that she was suffering apparently as much as he did. She was bereft with her father figure; he remembered that she had been pale and thin as she came to the opera house the first time. But for the love of god, which he did not possess, he wanted to be so much more than her father figure. He rose from the floor; something had to be done and had to be done soon.

Meg made her way through the corridors to the dormitory, irritated with her mothers odd secrecy, she knew what was wrong with Christine, and she didn't want to tell her.

She stopped abruptly and the sound of Adrien's voice. She slowly tiptoed to the edge of the corridor, and peeked into the next. Désirée, a chorus girl and the biggest flirt in the entire theatre stood on the tips of her toes and whispered something onto his ear. Meg felt a huge surge of jealousy, and watched in anger as Adrien laughed at the thing Désirée whispered to him. She spun around and stormed of to the dormitory from another corridor.

Christine sat limply on her bed, gazing emptily into the air, when Meg burst in, yelling.

"That horrible shameless flirt, mon dieu, I hate her"

Christine turned her face towards the girl, who was her sister, well not in blood, but she was in spirit.

"Whom do you hate?" Christine said, surprised at the blondes fierce outburst. Meg was a passionate person, filled with all the southerners' fire, as a contrast against her delicate and cool appearance.

"That Désirée Bourchard girl" Meg fell on the bed, sobbing of fury "She was flirting with Adrien".

Christine forgot her own worries for a moment and rushed to her friend's side.

"Oh Meg, I'm so sorry for you" she said and stroked Meg's hair.

"Christine, I was wondering are you sure you wont come to the masquerade, I would feel better about asking Adrien to dance if you are there with me".

She knew it was incredibly selfish to ask Christine to come along, when she wasn't feeling well, but she just needed Christine's support, her confidence hadn't risen when she had seen Désirée and Adrien together.

Christine bit her lips, feeling guilty; she had been so wrapped up in her own loss of her angel, that she had completely forgotten Meg's infatuation with Adrien.

"Yes Of cause I will come Meg, I've just not been myself lately" Christine said and looked blankly into the air.

The past weeks had been very hard for her. Her nights full of restless dreams, and without her angel, it seemed like all her inspiration and love for the ballet and singing had disappeared. She could no longer let herself be consumed in the dance, or rise herself to the ecstatic heights when she sung like she could before. What had she done? But as she remembered her heavenly tutor sing to her that day, she felt tingles all the way up and down her spine.

She had been so engrossed in her own thoughts she didn't realise that Meg was talking to her. She shook her head violently so her dark curls flew about her lovely face.

"Sorry Meg, what did you say?"

"I just said that I'm happy that you'll go with me after all" Meg smiled brightly "Oh but then we'll have to go and order our new dresses"

Christine laughed, as always it was impossible not to be affected by Meg's enthusiasm.

"Come on, we have no time to lose, we must go immediately" she grabbed Christine's wrist and dragged her out of the room.

The masquerade was upon them, and Christine and Meg were going to go to the employer's party.

Antoinette was watching them strictly, tapping her fan against her hip.

"I've worked and lived here since I was sixteen, so I know that these things tend to get a bit out of hand, but" Antoinette pointed her fan at them as if it was a sword "I expect that you act decent at this party"

"Yes mother we will be good, we promise" Meg said, and laced up Christine's new light blue dress.

"Honestly" Christine said with a smile, she looked better than a week ago, but there was still a profound sadness in her deep ocean blue eyes, which just made them more captivating.

She started to lace Megs green dress, and Antoinette sighed.

"You must have fun; God knows that I have to talk politely to snobs all the time" Antoinette made a disgusted face, which made the two girls laugh. She patted both girls on the head before she walked out of the room.

The two girls ducked their heads together laughing. Christine looked at Meg with a bright smile; she smoothed out a few wrinkles in the chiffon and cotton skirt.

"You look wonderful Meg, and if Adrien can't see that and prefer Désirée, then he must be blind" Christine said, and braided Meg's golden locks.

"Thank you Christine, but I'm so nervous" she whimpered.

Christine took the plain black mask that lay on the table "Well then hide it with this" she said and patted Meg on the head. She herself took the other mask she had spent more money on the mask. It was blue with silver patterns and black feathers. She smoothed the wrinkles of her own plain dress that was also of cotton and chiffon, and then smiled at Meg.

"Well My fair lady, shall we go?" Meg said and hooked her arm under Christine's.

They dashed of to one of the old ballet training rooms that had been decorated for the night. It was already filled with the employees of the opera. Lower ranked dancers, musicians, stage hands (Joseph Bouquet was already getting drunk) and chorus girls- and boys.

A few musicians had picked up their instruments and were playing a gay tune. Meg's hold on Christine's arm suddenly tightened.

"Oh no Adrien is dancing with Désirée" Meg said unhappily.

Christine saw them. Désirée was dancing in a most indecent manner with Adrien.

"Come let's dance" Meg said suddenly and dragged Christine out on the floor among the others.

"Come my darling, let's dance in passion" Meg said with a deep voice, and let the brunette into a tango. Christine laughed, and joined her friend in the exaggerated dance.

As they took a break from the dance, they saw Désirée standing in a corner, sulking. Christine smiled, she was glad to see that Adrien had had enough sense in his head to leave the horrible flirt. Christine and Meg grabbed a glass of punch, resting from their dancing. They pushed their masks away from their faces, smiling gleefully. Christine was glad she chose to go with Meg to the party after all. She was having fun for the first time since her angel left her. At the thought of her angel, she felt sad again, se quickly took a gulp of her punch to hide her sudden change of mood.

"Uhm Meg, can I have the next dance" a voice sounded behind them.

The two girls spun around and saw Adrien stand in front of them smiling a bit hesitantly. Christine watched happily as a deep blush spread across Megs cheeks and she stuttered a yes.

"Will you be alright Christine?" Meg asked and looked at the other girl.

"Go on and have fun, I'll be fine Meg, don't worry" she said and made a motion for Meg to move along with Adrien. She was so happy for Meg, but as she saw him is his arms, she felt jealous. Her angel wanted nothing to do with her anymore, and she was all alone.

"Oi Christine, won't you join us?" Gilbert, a young tenor form the chorus' voice cut across the music and chatter of people. She bit her lips hesitantly, before she made her way through the crowded room to Gilbert and his friends. She sat down beside Odette, one of the best dancers in the ballet corps.

"Here have a drink, you look like you could use it" she said, and shoved a bottle into Christine's hand. Her blue eyes went wide, she never drunk anything stronger than punch, or a single glass of wine at more formal dinners.

"No, no I don't drink Odette, but thank you" she said a tried to give the bottle back to the dancer.

"Don't be so silly Christine, one sip won't kill you" Odette laughed.

The one sip turned to many during the night, and as Christine was not used to alcohol she found her self more than a little tipsy. She was dancing to the gay tune of violins with Gilbert. Giggling in the silliest manner. She clung to him as she felt a bit dizzy, and he held her tight. His hands were travelling up and down her body, and all of a sudden it was as if Christine grew conscious of what she was doing. She pushed him away, disgusted with herself.

"I'm Gilbert, but I think I need to get to bed" she made her way out of the room on insecure feet.

She considered for a moment to ask Meg to come along, but as she saw Meg in the arms of Adrien, dancing a sweeping waltz looking at the dark haired man adoringly, she decided against it.

She made her way through the corridors of the opera house; she could hear the muffled noise from both parties. She felt so disgusted by herself. She had promised her angel that she belonged to him and no other, and yet she had allowed Gilbert to grope on her body. She belonged to her angel as she had promised, and she would continue on doing so, until he gave any notion that he released her from her promise.

She was so consumed in her own thoughts she didn't realise that someone was following her until a hand closed over her mouth and she was pulled into a nearby niche…..

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Hey my first try with a cliff-hanger, so how do you like it, are you in deep anticipation for the next chapter? Oh whatever don't be to mad at me, I'll try to update quicker, but just leave a review and I'll be very, very happy.

I remain your obedient servant.

_**EMJ**_


	9. Dread and Bliss

I'm sorry, it has once again taken me quite a lot of time to finish this chapter.

I want to dedicate this chapter to all my reviewers (okay all them have) I got seven reviews for my last chapter! Yay! I love to check in on my email and see that sentence alert fanfiction review and then read your encouraging and flattering words. So I'd like to thank _Cap'n of the deep, GoddessoftheDeath, Maeve Of The Nile, Myself, Alexa, Elanor Ainu, Goose girl and Arent inman_, you are so great all of you. I love you all! (Okay not like that, but you know what I mean) And I'm sorry about my cliff-hanger, I just had to try. I don't know if there will be more of them.

**Disclaimer:** No I don't own the story, pity I don't, but I don't.

I've used a part of the beautiful song Dante's prayer by Loreena McKennitt, so alas no, I don't own that one either.

Goose girl I'm very grateful about your offer to be my editor, but I'll rather have a editor who edits all of the story, because I'm not really sure in the rating. So is anyone interested to be editor? Both grammar faults and suggestions to write better or to change something.

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Chapter 8

Dread and bliss

Christine struggled in her unknown attacker's strong arms. She tried to scream, but the hand covering her mouth effectively put a stopper for that. She could hear his shallow breathing and smelt the alcohol from it. She was pressed against the cool mahogany of the wall. Suddenly the light from the hallway hit the face of her attacker. A mob of dark curly hair, green eyes and a slightly hooked nose.

"Gilbert!" her yell was partly muffled by his hand.

"Yes Christine you are right about that" he said and released her mouth only to cover it with his own.

Christine's stomach turned with revulsion at his kiss, and she pushed him away. Anger flared in his dark eyes. Christine opened her mouth to scream, but he smacked his hand down on it. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit the inside of her cheek, at his violent gesture.

"Now why would you do that Christine" he said in a low whisper "I know you want this, or else you wouldn't have danced with me in that way. But if you scream Christine, you'll regret it".

Gilbert pinned her between the wall and his body and started to kiss her neck, Christine was overpowered by revulsion at his touch and the hard bulge she could feel pressing into her belly.

She knew what it was Gilbert wanted. She had been living on a dormitory with girls of all ages for many years. Her and Meg had often spied on the older girls when they exchanged experiences, and seen quite a lot of girls in the dark corridors after the shows with their lovers. She had fantasized about her first time. It would be slow, soft, romantic and in her fantasizes it had always been with her angel, who took the shape of faceless stranger. The only real experience she had herself was the innocent and clumsy kisses she and Raoul had given each others in the blissful days of her childhood where her father was still alive, and then there was that fatal day where Erik, her angel had left her.

This was not how it was meant to be!

She tried to fight of his strong muscular arms and hands. The feeling of his wet lips trailing across her neck filled her with nothing but disgust. She panted in effort, in spite of her years of hard training; her delicate body was not able to move Gilbert the slightest.

Eventually Gilbert grew tired of her and struck her across her face. Stars danced behind her eyes by the force of the blow, and it was only subconsciously she felt Gilbert tear her completely new dress up in the front. It was when he touched her breasts she grew completely conscious. Gilbert was drunk, and it was that, that became her salvation. She jerked suddenly and caught him by surprise, she lifted her knee, and it came in contact with the hard bulge between his legs.

A wave of relief swept through her body as she felt his hold on her lessen, she jerked free of his grasp and stormed trough the corridors, trying to cover herself with her torn dress. The sound of her blood pumping through her veins filled her ears, and her chest was heaving with both the effort of her running and her crying. Her feet's carried her through the complicated system of hallways and corridors of the grand opera house, she had no idea of where to she was running, but she ran away from Gilbert, the nice helpful and mischievous young man who had turned into a monster this night.

Finally she stopped panting for breath at the lower levels. She was just outside the chapel. She walked onto the darkened chapel silently and sat down. The moonlight was streaming into the cool chapel and bathed it in a ghostly light.

She cuddled herself into her arms and cried. She needed Erik desperately, now more than ever. She needed to hear his soothing voice that would comfort her and lull her of to sleep.

"Master I am so sorry, I didn't meant for it to happen. Please forgive me"

She was rocking back and forward in the chapel hiding her face in her hands, so it took a few seconds before she registered the soft singing the room was suddenly filled with.

Erik had been walking around in the panels of the wall, when he heard Christine's voice. Begging him to forgive her. He walked quickly to the chapel and looked through the transparent part of the wall. The moonlight lit the entire room and he saw her. She was sitting curled into a ball rocking back and forwards, her fragile looking form shaking with the force of her sobs.

He supported his weight against the wall, his throat constricted at the sight of her. How could he have brought so much pain upon her? He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, and started to sing to her very softly, as she lifted her head, he saw her face. Her cheeks stained black from her make-up and her eyes red because of her crying. A genuinely smile spread across her wonderful face.

"Angel" she sobbed.

"Shh Christine, don't worry nightingale. There is nothing to forgive"

Suddenly he saw that she held on tightly to her dress, and it was because it was torn.

"Christine what has happened too you?" cold dread washed over him, why was her dress torn; there was only one reason he could think of why her dress should be torn.

"It-was-Gilbert" Christine sobbed "He was drunk, and I had been dancing with him, he tried to force himself on me, but I got away" she rambled, but was intermitted by her hollow sobs all the time.

Erik clenched his hands and a hatred he had not felt since his days at the gypsies started to pump through his veins with his blood. That boy would have to pay a high, high price for touching his little songbird like that. He would regret it bitterly, not that he would have long time to feel regret in.

He looked at Christine's broken form, he ached with the need to cradle her in his arms and comfort her, but the last thing she needed was anymore shock tonight. He began to sing an old lullaby he heard a gypsy mother sing to her child many years ago.

"When the dark wood fell before me  
And all the paths were overgrown  
When the priests of pride say there is no other way  
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see  
Though you came to me in the night  
When the dawn seemed forever lost  
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me  
By the deep well of desire  
From the fountain of forgiveness  
Beyond the ice and fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone  
How fragile is the heart  
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly  
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart  
Lift this mortal veil of fear  
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears  
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me  
Please remember me"

Christine crying slowly faded and she curled into a ball. Her eyelids grew heavy and finally she was given the blessed peace of sleep.

Erik hesitated a bit before he walked into the silent and moonlit chapel.

She lay on the floor, her long dark curls spread out on the cold grey floor. Erik's heart constricted with love for her as he took in her relaxed, but tearstained face. He looked around the room; she could not stay here all night the floor was cold and hard. Everyone was at the parties, so he wouldn't be able to call Antoinette to help, he cursed to himself. He would have to carry her back to her dormitory himself. He swept of his cape and wrapped it around her petite frame before he scooped her into his arms. He swallowed thickly as she snuggled closely into his chest and sighed, her hand instinctively cradled itself around the nape of his neck. He felt himself be filled with so much tenderness and love for the fragile looking girl, who lay sleeping in his arms, that he felt like he was going to burst. He started to walk through the corridors carefully, not that he needed it, since everyone was of to the two parties.

The dormitory was quiet and he placed her carefully on the bed. She mumbled something incoherently and stretched on her bed before she curled into a ball once more. Erik kneeled down beside her sleeping form, looking at her adoringly. She was the loveliest thing he had ever set eyes upon, lovelier than Lucia, lovelier than the odalisque even.

He bit his lip and then brushed his glove clad hand across her porcelain cheek. The moonlight gave her face an ethereal glow and she rally seemed like an angel, He watched her face fascinated with her beauty. The soft flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks, the small sighs she released in her sleep. Suddenly she opened her eyes and looked at him. Panic spread trough his body.

"Angel" she whispered and a soft smile spread on her face she reached up to grab his hand.

The cape slipped from her body, and beckoned the torn dress and chemise that shoved of a fragile looking creamy coloured shoulder, and Erik's eyes immediately darted towards the swell of her breasts that was pushed up by the corset. His mouth went dry and arousal shot through his body. He looked at her softly heaving breasts, which almost seemed as they would spill out of the corset and then forced his eyes away from the tempting sight to her sleep laden eyes. Erik swallowed the lump in his throat and wet his lips before he began to sing.

His voice made her drowsy, and she quickly fell to sleep again, but her hold on his hand did not let go. He stared at her hand for several minutes before gently laying it down on the bed beside her face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should remove the corset, because it was not a very comfortable thing to wear, but he simply didn't trust himself if he started to remove her clothes. So he simply covered her body with the duvet before kissing her softly on the forehead, and slipped from the room, the anger returned to his body as soon as Christine was out of view.

There was someone who had a debt to pay.

It was not hard to find Gilbert Dubois, he was standing in the hallway not long from where he had been left by Christine, he was standing letting the wall support his weight mumbling something incoherently. Erik walked from niche to niche slowly closing in on his victim, the lasso ready in his hand. The boy never had time to register before the rope closed around hid throat yanking him backwards. Gilbert released a strangled cry as he felt the massive form of someone behind him, and a soft menacing voice, that made the hairs on his neck stand straight, spoke in his ear.

"You touched something pure tonight boy. It will be the last thing you'll ever do in this life".

"No please don't, I'll do anything you'll like sir. I was drunk, I was stupid, I would never harm Christine intentionally" the boy rambled panicked.

Erik smiled, he could feel the boy's fear of death and his panic, he could almost smell it.

"Never harm her intentionally?" Erik hissed "You pinned her too the wall and tore her dress meaning to rape her, and you never intended to harm her"

"I was drunk I didn't know what I was doing, please sir don't kill me, I'll leave this place immediately, I'll turn myself into the police" the boy was almost crying now.

"It's too late for pleading, bad excuses, it's too late for everything Dubois, you signed your own death warrant when you touched Christine, but you touched the wrong girl, Christine belongs to me" Erik hissed, and tightened the noose even more around the young boy's neck.

Gilbert was gasping, choking and coughing as Erik slowly blocked his airways. The boy clawed desperately at the rope.

"I can feel the life slipping from your body, in tact with me tightening this rope, the last thing you'll ever hear is my voice, you are lucky to die with the voice of an angel in your ears" he whispered, and the lasso was tightened even more.

"You're no angel, you're a devil" he gasped in a strained whisper.

Erik laughed and said mockingly "Satan himself was an angel before he was thrown into hell. That's what I am, a fallen angel".

And with those words he gave a quick tug on the lasso, and he heard the satisfying sound of the boy's neck snapping, and his limp form sacked into Erik's. He loosened the lasso and repulsed pushed the boy's dead body away.

He looked at it quizzically for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do with it. He could leave it there, but that would create irritatingly many questions and probably an investigation, but if he just disappeared there would be less they could do. Although he didn't want to touch the boy, he lifted the limp form up with some difficulty, the boy was strong. He felt a surge of anger at the thought of that strong body holding her trapped. Erik fought against that insane anger that welled up inside of him. The anger that called for aggression and violence.

He was maybe a despicable creature, but he wouldn't sink so low that he would maul a dead body. He stumbled down into his lair, and threw the body on the river bank, falling to hands and knees beside the dead body, his ragged breathing made his chest heave violently. He looked at the boy's fearful eyes and got up. With a fierce motion he kicked the body in the water; the river would carry Gilbert's body out of the catacombs eventually. As the boy disappeared from his view he relaxed and made his way into his lair. He sat down at the organ, taking of his mask and running his hand through his hair. His fingers went to the ivory tangents. The music came too him, flowing from his fingers creating a swelling music filled with enraged desire and murderous thoughts. He completely lost track of time as he spent his rage in the music, and finally as he finished of with the last press on a c key. He yanked a couple of note sheets, starting to scribble everything; he had just played, down. The music flew with no trouble from his mind, to his fingers, to the paper.

Meg reached the dormitory panting for breath after running all over the opera house.

"Christine, Christine" she tried to yell, but it only came out as a hoarse gasp.

Her friend was sleeping in her bed. A tiny smile formed on her lips. Black velvet peeked out from under the duvet.

"Christine" she said softly and shook her friend.

Christine's eyelids fluttered open "Meg" she said, confusion in her eyes.

She sat up, and the duvet slid from her allowing Meg to see the torn dress and the black velvet cape.

"Christine!" Meg said terrified at the state which the clothing of her friend was in "What's happened?"

Christine looked into the air, before the images and dread of the evening came back to her.

"It was Gilbert, I was drunk so I danced with him, more daringly than I ever should have. He…" she started to sob again "He tried to force himself on me; it was him that tore my dress, but I escaped from him and fled" she was crying again.

"Oh Christine" Meg threw her arms around the fragile girl rocking her gently from side to side, as she cried. "We'll talk to Maman tomorrow; we'll have him kicked out of the opera house for doing something like that belle ange".

Meg held her friends small frame and stroked her dark curls until the trembling of her body had ceased.

Meg reached for something to dry Christine's eyes with, and grabbed the cape. As she had removed the tearstains on Christine's fair porcelain cheeks, she looked at the cape.

It was exquisite black velvet, and probably the finest you could get in Paris.

"Where does this come from Christine?" she asked curiously.

Christine looked down on the cape, a puzzled expression on her face; she let her hand glide across the soft fabric.

"I have no idea, let me think for a minute" She started massage her temples, trying to think of what had happened after she had fled Gilbert.

She had run to the chapel, and her angel had sung her asleep there, he had forgiven her, utmost joy passed through her body at that thought, her beloved angel, Erik had forgiven her. Suddenly burning eyes invaded her memory. Strong arms cradling her to a broad chest. A chalk white mask covering one side of a face in shadows, the voice of her angel. Everything mixed into a blur; she didn't know whether it was real or dreaming.

"I ran to the chapel when I fled Gilbert, someone must have found me and carried me here" Christine could think of no other reason.

Meg looked at the cape with a thoughtful look, and then a smile spread on her face.

"The phantom" she said.

"What?" Christine croaked.

"The phantom, Joseph Bouquet says he wears a black cape"

"I'm not in the mood for your silly ghost stories Meg, I'll like to sleep"

Christine felt guilt for a moment when she saw the hurt in the blonde girls blue grey eyes but she couldn't deal with Megs nonsense right now. She had been through to much emotional stress this evening to handle her silly blabbering about the phantom.

"I'm sorry Christine" Meg said guiltily, how could she be talking about the phantom, when her best friend had come close to be raped?

"No it's okay Meg, I just can't handle this right now. I just want to sleep"

Erik sat silently at the organ as he finished scripling down; the anger had lessened. He buried his face in his hands. His bloodlust had disappeared completely and he took a couple of shuddering breaths.

His thoughts wandered to Christine. His beautiful, talented innocent Christine, who had come so close to rape this night. He remembered her face as she lay cradled in his arms. Her tearstained face, the soft flutter of her eyelashes, the soft sighs, her slender delicate body. He began to hum a soft melody. Ghostly words started to sound inside his head.

"_Nighttime sharpens heightens each sensation" _

His hands went to the organ, and he started to accompany the lyrics. A song filled with all his tender intensity of feelings for Christine. He smiled; he would sing it to her when he would show himself to her for the first time.

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Please, please review, it makes me so happy. 


	10. The discovery of a new diva

Thanks to **Maeve of the nile** glad you liked the music of the night thing.

**Cap'n of the deep **I didn't really understand your review, but thanks anyway

And **thegoddessofdeath** I love you, you are great.

The start up lyrics from Hannibal is some I have invented my self.

Raoul (the stupid twatty fop) will appear in this chapter. He is not based on Patrick Wilson's looks or dull version of him.

I have rewritten the prologue, so feel free to read it again and tell me if you think it is better. I think it is, but tell me what you think Eh…

Disclaimer: Alas non I don't own the phantom of the opera

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Chapter 9

The discovery of a new diva

"Gilbert Dubois, I want to talk to you immediately!" Antoinette's voice was like a whip cracking through the hallway of the male singers and dancers.

Christine had never seen her foster mother as angry as when she told her what Gilbert had done. Her normally calm and somber face had turned angry and she had shot up from her desk. She had gripped Christine by the arm and dragged her to the corridor of the men and boys.

Adrien came out from the rooms of the junior male choir's dormitories.

"I'm sorry Madame Giry, but Gilbert didn't come home tonight after the party. He left it and no one has seen him since."

The much taller, broad shouldered youth seemed very small before the piercing gaze of the ballet mistress.

"Then tell him I wish to see him in my room when he gets back. Come Christine, we'll be late for rehearsals."

Christine flashed Adrien a quick smile before she followed her foster mother for the rehearsals for Figaro's wedding.

Gilbert continued to be gone and Christine and Erik's relationship once again returned to the teacher and student. Erik didn't sing with a hint of the passion he had done that fateful night, he hardly sung to her at all anymore. Christine was happy, but a small treacherous part of her, longed for him to sing to her like that again. She could still remember the strange and exiting feelings his alluring singing had created in her body.

**OOOOOO**

As Christine came down to the chapel the first that met her eyes was a leather briefcase with golden letters saying Hannibal by Chalumeau.

Christine knelt down and picked up the script.

"_I want you to start on the first duet between Elissa and Hannibal._" Erik's voice sounded in the chapel, marvellous in its ghostly sound.

"But I'm not going to play Elissa, Carlotta is." Christine said with wonder as she looked up towards the angel on the wall.

"_Don't ask questions, Christine. Do as I tell you._" he snapped.

"I'm sorry Erik, I shouldn't be asking you questions." she said shamefully and opened the script.

Erik winced at her shameful and humble tone. He wished that she wouldn't act like that; so frightened and afraid to do something wrong in his presence.

She started to sing Elissa's opening lines; Elissa's fear for Hannibal's death should he go to war.

"_Stop Christine, you have got to put feeling in it. Remember, Elissa loves Hannibal and he is going away to war, she is devastated. Feel her despair". _

"I don't know how to..." Christine said.

"_Think of something that has made you feel despair, hold on to that memory and sing._" Erik said patiently. He could not expect that she would be able to be perfect when it was the first time to sing the duet.

"Like when you left me." Christine gasped and covered her mouth shocked by her own boldness.

Erik bit his teeth and fought the memory from returning. The memory of her tears and her pleading filled his head. He took a deep breath and replied "_Yes, like when I left you_."

She closed her eyes, letting the horrible memory wash over her.

"Begin!" he snapped and she began immediately.

"The hands of Rome reach out for Carthage, and you my love leave me here in the depths of my despair, awaiting your return in this golden prison!" she sung.

For a split second he marvelled in the change of her voice. It was filled with so much emotion, he could still hear the faults in the tunes, but her voice lifted itself up into glorious heights.

"_Elissa, you fairest of women do not shed your tears of grief too soon. I will return to your arms before long my dear, but for now the trumpets are calling us to war!_" he sung softly back.

They continued for a few minutes more before Erik stopped her, correcting her before making her sing it all over again.

He had lost track of time as they rehearsed, but he knew it must have been a long time since Christine's voice grew more and more hoarse.

"_Stop Christine, you are just going to strain your voice. I will see you after rehearsals and costume fitting tomorrow night. Take the script with you, and look it through, but make sure that none of your friends see it, not even Marguerite Giry." _

"Yes Erik." Christine said and tucked the script under her arm.

"_And remember to drink a cup of tea with citron in it_."

"Yes Erik I will." she said humbly.

"_Now go child_." he said heavily, and he watched her make her way out of the chapel door with the lovely dancer grace she possessed. Just before she disappeared out of sight, she turned around and flashed a soft smile to the room.

Erik sunk down on the floor, running his hands through his well combed hair. He sighed and let his head fall back against the damp stone walls. He hated this deception of her, he needed to find some way to tell her. One day he would have to reveal himself for her. Show himself as a real man and talk to her with a real man's voice. Would she have anything to do with him when he told her who he really was? A man. He may be a musical genius, but he wasn't the angel she adored and to whom she had given her soul.

He was Erik. A deformed monster, a murderer, a creature of darkness; who hoped he could catch the light of heaven and hold it in its hands. For now he could hold it; keeping it to himself. But one day he had to let it go and let it shine brightly. He feared that he would lose her.

**OOOOOO**

Christine had just tucked the script underneath the madras of her bed when Meg entered the dormitory.

"Where on earth have you been Christine?"

Christine spun around and looked at Meg.

"Nowhere..."

Meg looked at Christine with one eyebrow lifted sceptically.

"Oh, well, Mama has invited us at the patisserie le cygne d'or." Meg said gleefully.

"Really?" Christine said with joy and got up from the bed.

"Yes, change clothes. Mama wants to be going in ten minutes."

Christine jumped to her closet and fished out a dress as Meg was already undoing her laces. They quickly got the blue dress on Christine and tied back her hair in a braid.

They hurried out of the room, and down to the hall where Antoinette was waiting.

As they made their way out of the opera house, a man from the surete entered.

"Constable Blanchard, what on earth brings you here" Antoinette asked confused.

"One of your singers was reported missing a few weeks ago, we've found him. He's dead."

Antoinette's eyes widened "Dead?"

"Yes his neck is broken and he's been in the water for weeks. We're positive he's been killed, Madame."

Meg held her hands up for her mouth, and Christine just looked down to the floor. Relief and another feeling flooded her body, it took a few seconds before she registered that it was joy. She was horrified with herself. She should not be happy that anyone died, it was unchristian. It was a sin, but she remembered the repulsive touch of his hands and was filled with a odd sense of triumph. He was dead; he would never be able to harm her again. She was shook out of her thoughts when the constable spoke again.

"And madame; I am very sorry as it seems you are going out, but I understand that when he was reported missing he was also accused for attempted rape by you on behalf of someone else. I am sorry but I have some questions to ask."

"Of course, constable. Come along, Meg and Christine, this concerns you too."

**OOOOOO**

It was to no one's surprise that the murder of Gilbert Dubois was never solved. Antoinette Giry though, was positive that she knew who had killed him, but she never told a soul. She did not weep for Gilbert. He had stolen any kind of pity from her heart when he tried to violate Christine.

Erik was dedicating himself to prepare Christine for the role of Elissa. He would make sure that Carlotta would never sing "Think of Me" on the stage. Christine would get that part and she would light up the stage of the opera Garnier of the opening night.

**OOOOOO**

The rehearsals were to begin. Christine and Meg made their way down the stairs in their costumes along with the rest of the ballet rats, standing on parade for Antoinette to inspection. The ballet mistress nodded and waved them to the stage with her black and golden baton.

They were rehearsing once again, listening to Carlotta's pompous singing, when Lefevre suddenly walked onto the stage with two other gentlemen. One of them was plump with a moustache, grey hair and a nice, merry face. The other was tall and had calculating eyes, a smug smile on his face. Christine didn't think he looked very nice.

She listened, uninterested as Lefevre presented them as the new managers. As long she could keep on dancing and singing in the opera house, it didn't matter to her who owned the Garnier opera. She watched the other dancers with contempt when they postured in front of the new managers, while they muttered about how rich the old men probably were. But she was shot out of her thoughts when she heard the name.

"The Vicomte de Chagny."

Christine looked up suddenly and saw a young man with long honey coloured hair and warm brown eyes, very dashing and dressed in the latest fashion, beautifully made. She knew who it was. It was Raoul. Raoul, who had saved her scarf, her childhood friend. Raoul whom she hadn't seen for ten years. He was her only link to the blissfulness of her childhood.

"It's Raoul." she whispered "When I lived out by the sea, Raoul took music lessons from my father." A soft smile lit up Christine's wonderful face. "We were friends, one would maybe say childhood sweethearts."

"Oh Christine, he is so dashing!" Meg chirped.

He came towards them on his way out. Christine looked up at him expectantly, but he walked straight by her, not even looking at her. Her face dropped. Meg stroked Christine's hand reassuringly.

"He didn't see you." Her face was optimistic on her friend's behalf.

"He wouldn't be able to recognise me anyway; we haven't seen each others for ten years. Not since he had to go to Marseille."

Firmin and Andre walked together with the regal ballet mistress, delightful watching the lightly dressed dancing girls. Firmin thought that maybe it wasn't so bad that Andre had talked him into buying the management over the opera. If he could look at lightly dressed ballet dancers, with their wonderful bodies, then it maybe wasn't so bad. There were especially two dancers who attracted attention. A blonde girl, richly curved even though her body possessed the slim elegance of a long time dancer. She was with no doubt the best dancer on stage. He could see Andre's gaze hung at her under the Madame Giry's explanations. He saw the disappointed look on his partner's face when the woman declared that the blonde dancer was her daughter. His eyes then followed the other dancer. Her hair was a wild mass of dark curls, her face was concentrated, yet blissful. It was obvious she loved to dance. Her body was delicate, like a perfect made porcelain doll.

"And who is that exceptional beauty?"

"Christine Daae Sir. A promising talent, a very promising talent indeed." She looked at the man's face, and then at Christine delicate frame in the heated dance.

"I look upon her as my daughter also, monsieur." she said sharply.

"Daae you say... she wouldn't have anything to do with the famous violinist would she?" Andre asked interested. Antoinette looked at the manager with surprise; she thought that the new managers were without any knowledge of music, that they had only bought the opera for the dancing girls, the parties, and the glamour of being an opera house owner.

"Yes she is his only child."

The rehearsals ended with one of Carlotta's hysterical fits as the primadonna didn't like that the new managers concentrated more on the dancing than her.

Christine and Meg watched in amusement as the managers groveled for Carlotta, and made her sing.

Her exaggerated voice sounded clearly across the stage, and Christine and Meg tried to ignore it. They were suddenly very attentive, when a stage screen fell from the ceiling and crushed Carlotta to the ground. Everything became confusion as everyone stormed to help the Spanish diva. But now, her temper was a wild flame, she insulted the managers and stormed out, screaming and yelling.

Christine and Meg laughed at the managers' horrified expressions and they returned to their chatting with the other ballet rats. Christine didn't really notice what happened behind her before she heard her foster mother say:

"Christine Daae could sing it messieurs. She knows Elissa's score."

Christine spun around and looked at the managers and Antoinette. Terror and surprise paralysed her body. How did Antoinette know that she knew the score?

"She's just a chorus girl, don't be silly Madame Giry." Monsieur Andre said and shook his head as he wrung his hands in worry.

"I assure you Christine can do it, she's been taught very well." Antoinette declared and pushed her foster daughter forward. Christine stumbled forward and looked nervously from the one manager to the other.

"Go on girl, let's see what you can do." Firmin said uninterested.

Christine's gaze flickered between Meg, the managers, and Antoinette who urged her on to sing. She took a deep breath and started to sing.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye..." her voice was shaky and insecure at the start, but quickly gained confidence.

Erik watched happily as the mangers picked Christine to sing at the opening night. Although it had filled him with glee to get Carlotta to leave, it had been so easy. He knew the diva's temper, and knew how little it took to get it aflame.

As he watched her, he decided to show himself to her tonight. When she won the heart of Paris, she would adore him no matter what.

_She would _

_She had to. _

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I ask you to review on my knees with pleading eyes, there is nothing as good reviews. PLEASE! It's what motivates me…. 


	11. Christine's debut

Awesome I've gotten three new reviewers on my latest chapter, AWESOME! I LOVE ALL OF YOU! But I give my dear, dear editor thegoddessofdeath an extra thank you, you are great.

**Eleanor Ainu:** Did you honestly think yourself that I would tell you if Christine choose Erik, Raoul or neither? I'm glad you will keep reviewing though; I'll never grow tired of getting those.

And yes you are right. Raoul is not a bastard; he's just annoying and gets in the way. Alas I feel tempted to kill him, but I won't…. Or will I? You just to read on, to find out.

**Hitori Loire:** Yes I loved that line myself, I'm glad to see that others did too.

**GoldenLyre:** Well it wasn't really thought of to be amusing that poor Erik is lusting after Christine, but glad you like it.

**Cap'n of the deep:** It's okay luvie, don't feel bad, I'm so glad that you like it.

**Lynn:** Thank you I'm happy you like my version of Erik. He is the hardest one to write.

This story will now more or less follow the story line of the movie, although I'll probably put in a few extra scenes with some Kay thrown in it. After this is done, I'm planning to write a sequel, but I will not promise anything.

Disclaimer: No for fks sake I do not own it.

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Chapter 10

Christine's debut

After the managers had decided to let Christine sing the part Elissa instead of Carlotta, everything happened so fast. The costume's had to be resewn to fit Christine's taller and more delicate body.

As she was fitted for the sparkling white costume for the last act, she let her hand stroke the silk and looked at Antoinette questioningly.

"Is Elissa not a Carthaginian queen, from before the birth of Christ?" she asked.

"Yes that is right Christine." she said, as she polished her black baton.

"Well is it not a bit unrealistic that she wears a dress from our time period?" she asked.

Antoinette looked up with a smile "Perhaps, but that is just the way it is. You're a opera singer, not a costume designer Christine." She put down her baton and walked to Christine who was currently standing on the fitting stool.

"You must tighten the sleeves more Yvette, Christine's arms are thinner than Carlotta's." she said to the seamstress.

"Yes Madame Giry." the chubby girl said humbly.

As the last costume was fitted appropriately, Yvette left the room and Antoinette walked to her foster daughter and cupped her face.

"Little Christine..." she smiled with teary eyes.

Christine was confused by the look in Antoinette's eyes. It was a mix of pride, pity, sorrow, and happiness.

"Do you think Papa would be proud of me?" Christine asked nervously.

"Yes he would... he is. I'm sure of that." Antoinette said to her softly. "Now off with that costume and get into the opening one my dear, we're to begin soon. I'll send Yvette in again to help you."

Christine was helped into the heavily ornamented dress and crown that Elissa was to wear in the opening act. The gold was painted on her face, and her eyes lined with blue kohl.

Meg burst in the door as Yvette had just put the finishing touch on the makeup.

Meg was smiling broadly and declared with a happy voice: "Oh Christine, you really look like a diva in that costume, and with that paint all over your face!"

Christine grinned into the mirror. She really looked like a diva in the costume with the heavy makeup and the artificial gold crown on her head.

Meg hooked her arm under Christine's and dragged her along for the stage.

"Wait Meg I can't walk very fast in this thing!" Christine giggled and gestured towards the heavy scarlet and gold dress.

She felt giddy. It felt like hundreds of butterflies were fluttering around in her belly.

"Oh I'm sorry Christine, I'm just so exited. You get to sing Elissa, it's just amazing! I can't wait to hear you singing "Think of Me."

Christine smiled. "I haven't really realized what I'm going to do yet. I still can't believe it." Christine said. As they got closer to the stage it started to get thick with singers and dancers.

"I would give you a kiss for good luck, but I would just ruin all the glory." Meg said with a smile, brushing her finger across Christine's slightly arched nose. Then, she ran out to her waiting position beside the stage.

Christine stood frozen behind the wine red curtain. She wrung her hands desperately as she heard the musicians get their instruments in tune, and the audience who made their way to the seats. Her breathing picked up as the nervousness took hold of her.

Since Piangi had left the opera house along with his mistress Carlotta, his understudy, Carlos de Valle, had taken the role as Hannibal.

"Don't worry Christine, I heard how beautiful you sang this afternoon, you'll do splendidly. Paris will love you, there is no doubt about that, just breathe deep and try to relax." Carlos said reassuringly to her, and patted her shoulder.

Christine looked up with a grateful smile. "Thank you Carlos." she said and he helped her down on the bench she was to sit on in the opening scene, and he knelt down before her with a encouraging smile.

The curtain started to open, and the scene was exposed to the audience. Christine started to sing.

"_The hands of Rome reach out for Carthage, and you my love leave me here in the depths of my despair, awaiting your return in this golden prison!"_

She started out weakly, but slowly her voice lifted higher and higher and people listened in awe to her singing.

Her and Hannibal's duet. Their secret love affair. Elissa's joy when she was with Hannibal. Her misery when he went into war...her voice carried her easily through Elissa's feelings.

**OOOOOO**

As the curtain fell at the break, the audience exploded. The applause rose in the hall, and Christine made her way to the dressing room for costume change before the third act. She had a broad silly smile on her lovely face. As she walked by, the other singers and dancers complimented her for her singing.

Yvette quickly removed the heavy makeup, and helped her into the beautiful white silk dress that was like a cloud around her. The star shaped pins held her thick curly hair back from her breathtaking face.

She listened to Carlos who sang his mourning song for being cast out, and she heard the audience's applause. She took a deep breath and walked to the stage, waiting for the coulisses to be arranged for the final aria, _her_ aria, "Think of Me".

As the curtains exposed her to all of the high society of Paris and the lower ranked public, she started to sing. She poured her very soul into the song; she wanted to make Erik proud.

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we say goodbye._

_Remember me once in a while, _

_Please promise me you'll try." _

At the cadenze, Christine's voice rose higher and higher. Her voice full, rich, and more beautiful than anyone in the hall had ever heard. If one had never heard Christine Daae sing "Think of Me", then they had never heard the song properly.

As she finished, people released a breath they didn't even know they had held. It was like an angel was on the stage singing with its heavenly voice.

Christine smiled and sunk into a deep curtsey, one that only a balletdancer would be able to manage as the loud applause filled her ears. The audience rose from their seats as a roar of admiration filled the theatre hall. The rest of the cast of the opera came to the stage, standing with her. La Sorelli, the prima ballerina, took Christine's hand and led her to the very edge of the scene. The graceful woman let go of the new prima donna's hand, and started to clap. Soon, the rest of the cast joined in the clapping along with the audience.

Christine smiled, but she suddenly felt dizzy. All the sensory overload on her mind and body crushed down on her. She felt more exhausted than she had ever been before. She staggered, and everything grew dark. Sorelli caught Christine in her arms as she fainted.

**OOOOOO**

She was awakened by a sharp smell that tore in her nose, and she coughed. She shot bolt upright from the divan she sat on.

"Smelling salt." Meg said with a merry glint in her eyes as she appeared to Christine. "What happened?"

Christine rubbed her nose with her face scrunched up in disgust. "I don't know. I just felt completely drained all of a sudden."

"Well that is no wonder I never knew you could sing like that Christine. How did you learn that? I was surprised to hear that you let alone knew Elissa's score." Meg said and sat down on a chair opposite the divan.

Christine bit her lip, and looked into Megs eyes. Should she tell her about Erik? He had told her not to tell anyone that she was training for Elissa under his guidance. But, the part had passed, she was not training for the part any longer.

"Well... I was tutored." Christine said hesitantly.

Meg looked at her suspiciously "Tutored? By whom?"

Very slowly the new prima Donna answered: "The angel of music. You remember how I told you about him when we were younger? Well he's been teaching me for years."

"The angel of music, Christine? That is no more than an old children's story told by your father." Meg smiled

"Do you think I'm lying?" Christine yelled and shot up from the divan, her eyes flashing.

"Christine you must have been dreaming, stories like this can't come true." Meg said. She did not believe in what Christine was telling her, but it was very obvious that Christine believed in that angel.

"You believe in the Phantom! What's the difference in believing in a ghost or believing in an angel? I've heard his voiceless song, more beautiful than anything any mortal is able to have." Christine said and stubbornly shot forward her chin. But, her eyes held a gentle and dreamy look.

Meg opened and closed her mouth a couple of times; she didn't know what to answer, for Christine was right. "That's not the same!" she finally replied. "People have seen the Phantom; you haven't seen your angel."

"And how will you explain the voice Meg? Do you believe I'm starting to hear voices? That I'm going crazy?" Christine said angrily.

Meg threw her hands up to the air, in a gesture toward the sky. "No of course I don't think so… I'm…"

They were interrupted as Antoinette's elegant figure entered the room.

"Meg, I need to talk to Christine alone." she said.

Meg shot an apologetic look at Christine, and rose from her seat with a feeble "Yes mother" and went out of the room.

"The corridor outside is filled with people who wants to express their admiration for the opera Garnier's new prima Donna." the regal woman said with a smile.

Christine smiled, although she was filled with repentance for her fight with Meg. She hadn't meant to get that angry, but when Meg didn't believe her she just... got so angry...

"This is all so very overwhelming, Antoinette. I don't know how to react."

"You don't have to talk to anyone. It's clear you are tired, and understandable. You were spellbinding tonight Christine. I've never heard anything like that. I'm proud for myself and your father and your mother." She gave Christine a deep crimson rose with a delicate green stem, a black silk ribbon was shining in contrast to "He is very pleased with you."

Christine looked at her foster mother questioningly, and looked at the utterly perfect rose with admiration; she let her fingers slide across the soft petals. When she looked up, Anotinette had left the room.

She sat down by the boudoir and looked at the rose. She was he? Suddenly a soft voice sounded in her ears.

"Little Lotte, let her mind wander. Little Lotte thought: 'Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?'"

Christine shook herself out of her thoughts and smiled a dazzling smile at the young man who had just entered with a bouquet of lilies.

"Raoul." she felt herself be filled with joy, her old playmate remembered her after all.

Raoul looked at Christine as she sat by the boudoir. She seemed fine again. He had been so afraid if she was ill when she fainted on the stage after that breathtaking performance. He sat down beside her, and they talked about old days. She had grown to be quite a beauty since those days in their childhood before he left for the naval academy. But as she started to talk about the angel of music, that silly childhood story her father had told them about so many years ago, he just laughed.

"You should go with me to supper tonight Christine." he said.

"No I cannot, the angel of music is very strict." she said.

Raoul shook on his head; she was acting foolishly with those stories. He chuckled.

"Well I shan't keep you up late. Now get changed and I'll be back here in five minutes to get you."

And with those words he left the room, ignoring her protests.

Christine sat down again. Raoul didn't believe her either. She had heard Erik, why would she lie about him?

She changed into her nightgown. She didn't want to go with Raoul. She would wait for her angel. He had to come on the night after her first performance. As wonderful it was to meet Raoul again, she needed to talk to Erik.

And she had done so. She sat down and started to twirl the stem of the crimson rose between her fingers, as she waited for her angel.

Suddenly a chill went through the room and all of the candles blew out.

"_Insolent boy this slave of fashion basking in your glory!_

_Ignorant fool this brave young suitor sharing in my triumph!" _

* * *

Coming up next: Erik and Christine's first meeting…. Uhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh.

And in case you've forgotten, I like to get reviews.


	12. Secrets unveiled

Another reader of my story. AHAHAHAH, yes!

As you can see I've changed my name to Jacina Night feather. I hope that this has not created any confusion.

Once again, a big thank you, to my editor thegoddessofdeath, you are lovely.

**BumbleOBee:** I'm happy you like it.

**Monroe-mary:** It's good you have confidence in me, and about the thing of new stuff in the story, there will be more of it maybe not that much in this chapter, but later on there will be.

**Lynn:** Yes our dear Erik will get through some hard times now, okay he's been through hard times all his life…. Oh well you know what I mean.

**Cap'n of the deep:** I hope you haven't died yet since you've been right at your computer in all this time. ( I wouldn't like to lose one of my most faithful reviewers.)

**Hitori Loire:** Yes poor Raoul, he is a very logically thinking man, but hey would any of you believe your friend if she said she had heard the angel of music?

**Disclaimer:** I think I have made it very clear by now that; the phantom of the opera doesn't belong to me… Sadly…

The lyrics in this chapter belong to the two musical genius' Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (or whoever owns his music now, since he's been dead for quite a while). You guys rock my socks!

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Chapter 11

Secrets unveiled

Christine rose. The spite in her master's voice made her wince.

"Erik, master?" she asked. She knew it was him.

"So who was that dashing young man? A lover you've kept a secret from me?" he asked. Malice was in his voice, and "dashing" came out as a sneer.

Christine fell to her knees, folding her hands pleadingly in front of her.

"No of course not! I don't have any secrets from you master. He is just an old childhood friend, he means nothing to me."

"Don't lie to me Christine; I saw how your face lit up at the sight of him." he snapped.

"It's because I've not seen him for years! We were best friends before he left for Marseille ten years ago. I've not seen him before tonight. Please master. Don't be mad with me, I cannot bear it!" she sobbed.

Erik's heart wrenched as he saw her on the floor, pleading with him, insuring him that the boy meant nothing to her. Erik knew the young boy in fact did mean something to her, he knew that for a fact. He was not stupid. That was what made him jealous. He couldn't bear the thought of any other man than him meaning something to her, and he was not blind as to how handsome the young man had been.

"You must understand Christine. Nothing must distract you from your teaching. I demand absolute devotion; you must belong to me only. No other."

"I will Erik. I do, no other. You are my master and angel. I belong to you." she submitted to him completely. She would let him take control of her, as long as he didn't leave her.

Erik felt wild triumph surge through his body as she declared her absolute devotion to him. He did not know what madness drove him do what he did now. Maybe it was the panic of seeing the young man in the dressing room. Maybe it was the triumph of Christine declaring she belonged to him. Whatever it was, it made him slide the blind away from the mirror.

Christine's hands flew to her mouth to quell a shriek as she saw the contour of a man in the mirror. The only thing she could see clearly was the chalk-white mask that covered the one side of his face. Light shone from behind him somewhere, making him seem unearthly. But she saw no wings. If this "man" was an angel, he was a fallen one. But then he began to sing, and by God; maybe he didn't have the wings, but the voice was that of an angel. Her angel.

"_Come to me angel of music! I am your angel of music!" _

Christine moved towards the mirror, his voice calling to the very depths of her soul, she stumbled and looked into where his eyes had to be.

He reached out his hand. She realised in some place far back in her mind that someone was calling her name and pounding at the door of the dressing room.

Christine reached out hers as well, letting the trembling delicate hand hover over his before she put back the last part of reason behind her and laid her hand in his. Christine felt his long slim gloved fingers close around hers, and gently pull her along when he started walking.

OOOOOO

Raoul burst through the door, looking around wildly. There was no one there!

It could not be possible. He had parted with Christine ten minutes ago; when he came back he had clearly heard her voice as well as the voice of a man, talking harshly to her. The voice had demanded her absolute devotion, but now…

He had burst in through the door, expecting to find Christine, his childhood playmate, the woman who had turned his head so effectively this evening, in a passionate embrace with another man. He searched the room, but there was no one there, no trace of Christine or the man he had heard speaking. He had to be losing his mind.

**OOOOOO**

Erik was still singing. She followed him blindly through the ghostly corridors, never taking her eyes of his face. She was faintly conscious that she sung a song with him; she did not know the words, but she joined her voice with his.

Erik looked back on her once and a while, he felt pleased with himself. How many demons had been able to seduce a pure angel into their world of darkness? He saw the wonder and awe in her huge blue eyes, and smiled before turning away from her again, leading her through the corridors he knew as the back of hand towards his home deep underneath the earth.

Erik was filled with triumph and satisfaction as her voice swelled and rose higher and higher in the underground cavern. Her voice was as clear as untarnished crystal, and it was he who had created it. It had always been his curse. He had been given the most horrible face on earth, and the ability to create the most beautiful things on Earth.

As the gondola softly bumped against the dock, he jumped out of it with the grace of a panther. With a swift easiness he discarded his cape on the floor.

He sang to her again.

"_I have brought you _

_to the seat of sweet music's throne _

_to this kingdom where all must pay homage _

_to music… music_

_you have come here _

_for one purpose and one alone _

_since the moment _

_I first heard you sing _

_I have needed you with me _

_to serve me to sing _

_for my music… my music..." _

His tone of voice was filled with longing, and as he looked her, she saw the longing in the part of his face she could see well. He walked down to her, and reached out his hand towards her. This time Christine did not hesitate, she gave him her hand immediately, and followed him as he let her to the centre of his lair. The music room. She stared at him as intensely as he stared at her. He was very handsome. His dark hair slicked back from his face. His face was with elegant and strong masculine features. The strange mask gave him an attractive mysticism, but it was his eyes that caught her with their intensity. They were strange, a beautiful jade green that toned into a golden amber at the pupil. They were so expressive and filled with longing and care. Longing and care for her, Christine realized. She trembled at the thought. Who was this man, this strange creature of darkness? This strange masked man with the voice of her angel. Had she been betrayed all along?

Suddenly he opened his sensitive shaped mouth and his voice floated from his lips.

"_Night time sharpens _

_Heightens each sensation _

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. _

_Silently the senses abandon their defences..." _

Christine's lips parted slightly and she stared at him in awe. All her questions were suddenly of no importance. She did not realize she had fisted her hands in his shirt, before he gently loosened her grasp in the crisp fabric. She blushed and looked down, embarrassed at the brazen act. He gently cupped her chin, turning her face up towards him, and she was again captivated by his eyes and his voice. His voice that so gently sang to her of the splendour and beauty of the night, of the darkness. She stood completely still as he started to walk around in the room, his eyes constantly on her. He possessed such graze as he moved; his entire being was radiant with sexuality.

As his voice rose, she felt every fibre of her being filled with his voice. It wrapped around her like a lover's touch. Her breathing picked up. Christine closed her eyes and let her spirit lift her up to the heights of heaven with his voice as the guide. He stilled with his singing, her eyes fluttered open, and saw he was directly in front of her. Her chest was heaving heavily. He brushed his hands across her cheeks, so lightly it was hardly a caress. She let out a shuddering breath.

"_Only then can you belong to me..."_

The painful longing in his voice made her heart twist.

He pulled her to him, and she followed him, as he turned her around in his arms and pressed her to his chest. His hands ran over her body, and Christine leaned into his touch, sighing at his burning caresses. His hand took hers, and guided it to his face he made her caress it.

"_Touch me trust me_

_Savour each sensation!"_

He led her down the stairs, her dressing gown was trailing after her. Somehow she had lost all thought of how proper dressing code was. All she sensed was his voice, and the burning feeling of his hands touch on hers.

He pulled back a curtain and she saw herself looking back at her. It was a life size doll of her in a sparkling white wedding gown.

The shock crashed down upon her, and suddenly it just was too much for her to handle. For the second time that night, she fainted.

Erik reached out and grabbed Christine as she collapsed. He held her closely to her, and carried her into her room. The room he had made for her. Gently, he laid her petite form out on the scarlet covers. He held back his breath, and brushed his gloved hand across her cheekbone, before he rose and pulled down the black lace curtains.

**OOOOOO**

Christine sat up. She was in a strange bed on scarlet covers, and she had no idea how she got there. She reached out and pulled the black lace curtains aside.

The room was beautiful. Ebony panels and scarlet walls. What had happened last night? How had she come to this place?

She had been in her dressing room. Raoul had sought her out, and they had talked. She had fought with Erik, who had become angry with her because of Raoul.

He had… He had showed himself to her, she had seen her angel… Except he was no angel... he had sung to her…

She blushed; she had behaved shamefully and brazenly as he sang to her. Curiously, she got up. She was without a doubt in this strange man's home. The man who once had been her angel, and who now was her… She didn't even know what he was anymore.

Christine made her way to the music room, where Erik was sitting. He was writing, and looked up as she entered the room. He stood up immediately, and wringed his hands almost nervously.

Erik heard her enter the room. She looked marvellously beautiful. Her long chestnut curls dishevelled, and her arms around herself. Erik stared at her. A painful pang of desire went through his body, and he clenched his hands.

"Good morning Christine." he said.

"Good morning Erik." she replied hesitantly.

He stood unmoving and looked at her.

"Who are you?" It burst out of her.

"Yes, I guess I owe you an explanation, don't I?" he said heavily.

"I live here underneath the opera. The most people in the opera know me as the Phantom. I've lived here for many years, my life dedicated to my music." He stopped and looked at her.

"If you live down here all alone, don't you become lonely?" she asked softly.

"Yes, it is a lonely existence Christine, but it has been for the best." he said with a voice heavy with sorrow.

He shook his head and looked at her with a soft smile.

"Would you not rather sit down, child?" he asked her politely and motioned for her to sit down in a red and golden brocade chair.

Christine sat down, covering herself carefully with her dressing gown. Her modesty had been restored.

He kneeled down in front of her, and she got caught in the intensity of his gaze once more. He took her hands in his and kissed them. She trembled at the fleeting caress.

"When I heard your voice in the chapel years ago I was filled with the desire to form your voice to the most glorious voice that has ever sounded on Earth. I succeeded, your voice made the angels weep last night, Christine."

Christine blushed at his poetic praise.

"I know it was wrong of me to lie to you, but you wanted the angel of music, and I wanted to form your voice. So I gave you what you wanted, and I took what I wished for. I am sorry for the sorrow I've caused you. I never meant anything for you than happiness."

He turned around her hands, and buried his face in the palms of her hands. His entire large frame trembled. He waited in tense silence, almost unable to bear the thought of her rejection.

Her heart almost broke at the gesture. This strange man who had once been her angel. Now he was just… Erik, her tutor. Christine blushed once more at the thought of what acts that had transpired between her and Erik: the night in the chapel where he sang to her, and left her afterwards still stood out painfully vividly in her memory. But what had he not given her? He had given her the greatest triumph on the stage last night; he had given her her voice. He had given her inspiration. How could she ever be mad at him, when he had given her so much?

She turned his face upwards and smiled at him.

"I forgive you Erik. You have given me so much. It is impossible for me to hate you."

Erik looked up into the angelic face above him. She forgave him for his treason. She did not hate him.

"Thank you Christine." he whispered and kissed her hands again.

"Will you still be my tutor?" she asked.

"Of course I will, Christine." he said and rose from his kneeling position. "Are you hungry?"

Christine had not thought of it. But as she did, she realized she was indeed hungry.

"Yes I would like something to eat." She replied. "And you wouldn't have…well… something else I could wear?"

"Yes certainly. In the closet in your room, you will find what you need, and there is a bathroom through the door beside the closet as well. You can get yourself ready as I cook some breakfast for you."

**OOOOOO**

Christine quickly found out that Erik had made sure that everything she needed was there to her use: gowns, stockings, corsets, petticoats and chemises. The bathroom was an epiphany. Creamy slightly with a deep bathtub. There were all sorts of perfumes, makeup and bath oi. Everything she would need. She was not used to such luxury from the dormitories of the opera house. He had made sure she would not miss a thing, and she felt touched as she thought of how much work he had put in the rooms for her to be comfortable.

She had to search a bit for the kitchen, but as she came in, she stood silently in the doorway. Not knowing what she was supposed to do, Erik was moving around in the room preparing breakfast for her. He turned around with the tray in his hands and his face it up at the sight of her. Christine blushed at his admiring gaze and sat down at the table when he motioned her to sit.

She ate silently. He watched her, barely eating himself.

**OOOOOO**

Afterwards, she sat in the music room trying to read Wuthering heights, which she had found in one of Erik's many bookshelves. But she was not able to concentrate Her gaze kept drifting from the book to Erik's mysterious and alluring form that was sitting by the organ and scribbling down something. The strange half mask glowed faintly in the soft candlelight. What was he hiding underneath it? What would a handsome man like him have to hide?

"The Brönte sisters are perhaps not to your liking?" he said catching her by surprise. He had known she watched him.

"They are, but I'm not able to concentrate right now, there's simply too much happening." she stuttered.

He straightened and looked at her."You want to sing instead? I'll accompany you on the organ if you want to."

A smile spread on her face.

"You want to? You are not too busy?"

"No, not at all. What do you want to sing?"

"Can't I sing "Der Hölle rache", the queen of the night's aria from 'the magic flute'?" Christine said hopefully. It was a big challenge, and Erik knew it.

"Very well my child, but you must warm up your voice properly."

She patiently started on her scales. Ever since she had heard Carlotta do the aria; she had wanted to try it herself. She could still hear Carlotta's voice go shrill as she sang it.

"Now begin." he said. He pressed down on the keys, starting the overwhelming roar from the organ. Christine opened her mouth and started to sing.

"_The vengeance of hell boils in my heart_

_Death and despair flame around me..."_

Erik closed his eyes, relishing in her heavenly voice. She was the first woman he had heard sing the wonderful aria without wincing.

Christine looked at her tutor. His eyes were closed and she saw the look of pleasure on the part of his face that was not covered by the mask. The curiosity rose as she took in his form. The strong and powerful looking frame, and his hands...She watched them in fascination as they moved across the keys so easily. He had no need to look at the keys to play. They were the most sensual hands she had seen, long and perfectly shaped. She couldn't help wonder how it would be like to be touched by those hands.

"_If you do not cause Sarastro a painful death_

_You will be my daughter no more!"_

Her eyes drifted towards the mask again. Again she wondered, what was he hiding underneath that flawless white mask? It couldn't possibly be anything bad. Should she remove the mask? No she couldn't possibly do that. She should respect his wish to hide his face from her.

"_Outcast forever, abandoned forever_

_Destroyed forever be all ties of nature..."_

He was handsome. He could play and sing. Both heaven and hell would weep of the sinful delight he created. What could he possibly want to hide? She had to know. What could happen if she did?

Slowly she stepped closer to him, and placed her hands on his shoulders. She inched them up to his face, and caressed his unmasked cheek. He leaned into her caress.

"_If Sarastro does not die through you!"_

She tugged her fingers underneath the soft and cool material of the mask, and pried it off his face.

"_Hear me gods of vengeance…" _

As she looked at the hideous sight she had revealed, her voice died in her breast. She backed away in horror.

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Ahahahahahahaha I couldn't resist mate, but hey you probably know what happens next, well I trust you to… But who knows, maybe I've got a surprise in store for you… Or maybe not… review and stay tuned in for more. 


	13. The demon released

Okay, it seems I've made you all expect a huge surprise about this chapter. It will not be so, but it will probably be a mix with Leroux and the musical, plus some of my own. I'm so sorry if I've given you false hope.

And I apologize for the long time it has taken for me to update, but as I said, I've been to Paris, and my editor, the wonderful goddessofdeath, have been studying for an exam, so that's why. Sorry.

**Kute Anime Kitty: **I'm so happy you like this fic, and about killing Raoul, I'm an E/C shipper myself, but you'll just have to read on to see if I'll kill Raoul. I can say as much as I won't for the time being.

**a.e.migs:** Well he'll be pretty mad at her, which is understandable, but read on to see what will happen. I love to get new readers, so welcome to you.

**Mini-Nicka:** Welcome dear new reader.

**Lynn:** Thank you, Erik is so important to me. Which leads me to: PLEASE tell me if I make Erik fluffy, I hate fluffy Erik's

**Monroe-mary:** As I've already said, there won't be that much surprises in this story anymore, but there will soon be a entirely never seen before scene, which I generally adore, and I hope you will be pleased about also.

**GoldenLyre:** Oh yes shit indeed, he'll be really pissed now.

**Cap'n of the deep:** Thank you so much; your sincerity warms my heart every time.

This chapter will probably get a bit violent, and as bonus info I can tell you I heard

"requiem" by Clint Mansell all the time while I wrote this chapter, amazing music, you should try it out.

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Chapter 12

The demon released.

Erik rose violently from the organ bench and looked at Christine. Christine looked at the disgusting sight before her. There was no gentle smile, or burning passion in his eyes. There was only rage. As handsome as his face had been on the left side, the right side was hideous. The nose almost sunk into his face, almost as if it wasn't there. The skin was red and twisted and lay closely over the bones. She could see the purplish and blue veins pulsating underneath the thin skin. At the hair line the skin was so thin; she could practically see the skull.

"Damn you!" he roared as he stormed towards her.

Christine backed further away, but her feet got caught in the hem of her gown, and she fell to the ground. The mask flew out of her grasp, clattering to the ground.

Christine clasped her hands over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. She pushed herself away from the demon that she had released with the removal of his mask. This only angered Erik further and he strode towards her, diving down upon her, grabbing her arms harshly. His fingers dug into her flesh. The action forced her hands away from her mouth and she let out a small scream of pain. He yanked her upwards and looked into the blue orbs that were her eyes. She closed them tightly, in defense of the gruesome sight that was her angel.

"Look at me Christine!" he roared. His voice was twisted with anger, and the effect was almost like being struck.

He shook her. Her head was tossed back and forward.

"Look at me, damn it! Look at what you were so eager to see!" His voice beat down overher, and she whimpered again. This violent and fierce Erik scared her.

"Look at me!" he yelled, and she opened her eyes. His voice was beautiful even when it was filled with loathing and anger.

His face grew even more horrible, as it twisted into an angry sneer. She felt the tears well up in her eyes as she looked upon the repulsive sight of his face.

"You've uncovered the monster Christine. See? There is no angel, only this!" he roared.

Erik saw the fear in her tear-filled blue eyes. But, her tears before had filled him with the need to protect her. The tears she shed now set his anger wildly aflame. He grabbed her hands, and lifted them to his face.

"But maybe this is just another mask! Do you want to make sure since this does not please you?" He bored her fingers into the deformed side of his face. Her nails cut through the thin skin and opened the veins. Blood started to stream down his face, and over her hands.

She screamed in fear at the sight of the red blood flowing from the gashes her nails had opened in his face.

"This is my face! This gruesome sight is my flesh! You wanted to see my face, and now you have. Are you satisfied?"

Christine only cried. She had not known, if she had she wouldn't of. The horror of his face and his anger was almost too much to bear.

"ARE YOU SATISFIED?" He shook her violently

"Please..." she whimpered. "Please..."

He looked at her, breathing heavily and his face twisted in anger. Oh God that horrible face! He pushed her away and she collapsed into a weeping heap on the floor.

"WHY!" he screamed. He grabbed a small mahogany table, and threw across the room. It shattered into pieces.

"WHY CHRISTINE! WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS TO ME?"

She sat up, and clasping her arms around herself, backed into a corner. She watched Erik fearfully.

He went to the organ, and started to pound his fingers into the keys. All the while he screamed like a wild animal. She shrunk under the incredible force of the music that beat down on her. She felt like she was suffocating under the force of the terrible music.

"Please stop!" she screamed. But, he took no notice of her. He could not hear her, and his musical onslaught continued.

It was glorious in its violence, but she couldn't bear to hear it. She put her hands over her ears, weeping helplessly. Try as she might, she was not able to block the music out as it reached a glorious crescendo. All of a sudden he stopped, and she took a shuddering breath, and looked at him. His broad shoulders shook, and she realized he was crying.

Christine felt a wave of pity crash down on her. Pity for the broken man sitting there. In spite of what he had just done, she still felt pity. She rose. Her legs were weak, but she walked on them nonetheless. Her foot met something on the floor, and she looked down. It was the white mask she had so unmercifully torn from his face. She reached down and picked it up, and walked slowly to him.

"Erik..." she whispered and laid her hand on his shoulder.

His body went rigid, and he did not move. She held the mask in front of him; he took it hesitantly and placed it over his bloodied face.

"Erik, please, I didn't know. I'm so sorry..." she said slowly.

"I don't need your pity." he hissed angrily.

Christine withdrew quickly. She was afraid for a moment he would get angry again.

"I'll return you upstairs Christine, people are probably missing you." he said and stood up. He shivered for a moment, but then walked to the gondola. Christine followed him obediently. It was clear to her that he didn't want her near him anymore, and could she honestly blame him? She hadn't had any right to remove his mask, but she did. And now she was convinced he would never forgive her.

**OOOOOO**

The sailing through the channels of Erik's underworld was horrible. He was silent as the grave, and there was no sound but the squeaking of rats, the dripping of water and the splashes when the oar hit the water. The cellars, which had seemed so mysterious and strange when he had brought her here seemed nothing but the gloomy and depressing depths they were.

He brought her back to the mirror door. She looked at him and opened her mouth to speak, but the words died before they had left her lips. Christine bowed her head, and hurried through the door, which he closed behind her. He had uttered a single syllable as goodbye, and her heart constricted with the need to hear his voice once more.

**OOOOOO**

Christine sat silently in the dressing room long after he had walked away. She twirled theblack ribbon of the rose she had received last night around her finger, lost in deepthoughts. She had been scared beyond anything she had ever been before in Erik's home. In actuality, his wild uncontrollable temper had been more frightening than his horrible face.

Suddenly Antoinette entered the room and she let out a startled shriek at the sight of her foster daughter.

"Christine you are back! He did not hurt you did he?" she asked fearfully and hurried to the young woman.

"I don't know what you are talking about Nettie." Christine said expressionless.

"You don't have to pretend that you don't know Erik, Christine. I know he's been tutoring you since you were thirteen."

Christine looked at Antoinette horrified. "How do you know about him?" she sputtered.

"I've known him for years. I'm what I suppose one would call his contact person here in the opera." Antoinette said heavily, and sat down at the diva beside Christine.

"Why did you never tell me? I've needed someone to talk to about it so many times." Christien said in a saddened accusing way.

"I know I should have, but I was scared Christine, he is my friend, but he scares me, he forbade me to interfere, it's only once I've had the courage to confront him about it. I'm so sorry Christine, I should have tried to help you, I know how he is like."

Christine sat silently and looked into the air.

"This rose I guess was from him then." she whispered, and caressed the soft petals with her fingers.

"Yes, but Christine, what happened when you were with him? He did not harm you did he?" Antoinette asked anxiously.

Christine suddenly started crying and threw herself into the crook of Antoinette's arms.

"I saw him Nettie. I ripped the mask from his face! I did not know... if I knew I would never..." Her fragile form shook with the force of her crying.

"He got so angry. He was like an animal, and I got so scared. I didn't know him anymore..." she whimpered

The young girl wept and wept in the arms of Antoinette, and the regal woman awkwardly rocked her back and forward while she felt like she were to be choked by the lump that had formed in her throat. She felt like crying, what horrors Christine had been forced to undergo?

"Oh petit ange, you silly little girl. Oh it's me who is to blame, I should've warned you." she said.

"No it's me who shouldn't have been so stupid." Christine sobbed angrily.

Finally her sobbing stilled, and Antoinette continued to clumsily stroke Christine's hair. She was not very used to show such affection, but her heart bled for the hurt of the girl with her.

**OOOOOO**

Meanwhile, Erik was sprawled across the swan bed in the Louis-Phillippe room. He stared at the ceiling blankly.

He could still hear her pleading inside his head. He groaned deeply. What had he done? She would never talk to him again freely. He had build up their relationship since she was thirteen, for four god damn years! And in one night he had destroyed everything! He rose violently.

"WHY CHRISTINE? WHY?" His roar echoed in the empty rooms of the underground house.

He started to pound in the pillows like a bizarre enlarged hysterical infant, before he broke down, panting heavily, ashamed by his despicable reaction.

"Christine..." he whispered brokenly, and buried his face in the scarlet silken sheets.

He felt blood seeping out from underneath the mask. He cringed as he remembered the look of the deepest fear and dread on Christine's face as he had bored her nails into his skin. He rose from the bed. He didn't care about his face, it could hardly even get any worse than it already was. But he knew from bitter experience, that if he did not clean and nurture the gashes in his face, they would evolve into something far much more uncomfortable. Then he wouldn't be able to get Christine to forgive him, not if he ended up with an aseptic traumatic fever.

As he made his way to the bathroom he cursed his own stupidity. How could he have thought she would just leave the mask be? She had once begged to see his face when he was still a ghostly voice in the chapel, how could he have been so terribly stupid? The mask allured women to follow that despicable curiosity that they all seemed to possess, but it was not just women, it was everyone. The people in the Boscherville, the people who had come to see him at the gypsy fair, Luciana, the Khanum, and now Christine. His wonderful Christine. By God what had he done?

He removed the mask in the bathroom, and hissed at the sight of caked blood on the inner side of it. With a steady hand he quickly cleansed the blood from the chalk white mask.

"_I don't want to sleep Mama..."_ he heard himself whimpering inside his head. _"If I go to sleep it will return, the face will return." _

He gritted his teeth tightly, and breathed deeply through his nose. He did not want to look at his face, but he had no choice if he wanted to prevent the wounds from getting infected. He looked into the small mirror that hung by the sink, and winced at its ugliness. He picked up a handkerchief, and carefully started to clean the ten gashes in the thin skin on his face. After smearing the herbal salve to the wounds, he looked into the mirror.

"_I want you to remove the mask Erik."_ Lucia's voice echoed in his head.

With a final look at the disgusting face in the mirror, he lifted his hand, and smashed it into the mirror that shattered into a million pieces.

The music that sounded in the cave afterwards was like a rape of the hearing senses, primitive and animalistic in its sound. It was full of raged hatred and a desperation that would make the one who heard it weep.

My dear readers, I hope this was satisfying enough, I really hope so. I know this was not very long either, but I promise I'll try to make the next one longer. Also I've been very insecure about this chapter, please let me know what you think about it.


	14. Confusion and dawning realizations

**A/N:** First of all, I'll give all my reviewers a huge thank you. I was so happy for that you liked the last chapter. I liked it myself, but it is good to know you did as well.

I've had a few people criticizing Raoul, and even suggest that I kill him, and not to let him get in the way. Well Raoul was meant to get in the way for Erik and Christine, so naturally he will in this story as well. Just to make it clear, I don't like Raoul, in fact I think him a disgustingly noble hearted man. He is worst in Leroux' novel, he has more balls in the musical as well as Kay's version, but he is just annoying. But to make this absolutely clear, I don't hate Raoul, and there will be no, or very little Raoul bashing in this story, so sorry for you guys who hoped for this.

God I am so sorry for the long waiting for this chapter, I have been terribly busy for the time being, and I was having terribly sore shoulders and neck caused by too much wild dancing and head banging last night as I wrote the ending of this chapter. I've just celebrated my last day in elementary school. Next week my exams begin, so I will probably be very busy until the middle of June, so the updates will probably be very slow. Another reason for the long waiting is also, that I've written the ending of the story, yes that's right, I've finally come up with the ending, so look forward to it, I myself thought it quite good.

**Dancer of the Opera:** A huge thank you, to you. Three reviews, I'm so happy that you like my story. And about Raoul, I answered your questions in the author note. And yes Erik deserves some happiness.

**Katiebabs:** Thank you, I do my best, I like the dark side of Erik, and Kay has most of that, and well, I don't like the Leroux Erik very much, but there are good details in the book.

**EriksIngenue:** Hahahaha, well, you just have to see about that.

**Lynn:** Thank you so much.

**Cap'n of the Deep:** Yes I didn't like that scene very much either, so I wanted a Christine that feels guilt, but at the same time horror, because well she…whoops, not more info.

**monroe-mary:** I'm glad you liked the chapter, since you really wanted something new, and I can't really say you got it in this chapter. And Kay's novel is wonderful is it not?

**BumbleOBee: **Thank you so much.

**Kute Anime Kitty:** I think I answered your question in the author note, hope you won't get to disappointed.

**NativeDancer:** Thank you so much. And yes I hate to read fanfictions where the Erik's are fluffy and the author pull out his fangs, so I try not to do that. Please tell me if I do.

**TacsGurlJess:** Wow your review warmed my heart, I'm so happy for all the credit you've given me, I'm really flattered that this is one of the few Phanfics you really appreciate.

Thanks again to my wonderful editor; I really appreciate your work on this story.

**Disclaimer:** No not mine unfortunately.

* * *

chapter 13

confusion and dawning realisations

Raoul was hurrying along in the complicated corridors of the opera. Christine was back, the ballet mistress had said. He had to see Christine. He had to know where she had gone to last night. She had just disappeared! Madame Giry had stated Christine wanted to be alone, that she wished to see no one, but Raoul had to see her. He had fallen in love with her all over again last night, instantly and unmercifully. The man's voice in her dressing room the night before had been like a dagger in his heart.

He finally reached Christine's dressing room; he pressed his ear to the door and listened. He could hear a faint sobbing behind the door.

He drew a deep breath and knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" He heard the broken croaking of Christine's tearful voice call out.

"Christine, it's me Raoul. I want to talk to you."

"Go away." she replied impolitely.

For a few seconds, Raoul stared at the door, shocked at her brutal answer.

"Christine…" he stuttered "…why will you not talk to me?"

"Go away Raoul, I want to be alone. I don't want to talk to anybody." She hiccupped.

"Please Christine, hear me out." Raoul said desperately. "I want to talk to you about the man that was here in your dressing room last night."

There were hastily steps behind the door, and it was ripped open. She did not look like the sparkling angel she had been the night before. She was clad in a dress ruined with dampness and stains; her hair was a wild unkempt mob on her head. Her wonderful eyes were red and swollen from hours of weeping.

"What did you say?" Her eyes took on a wild expression.

"I said I wanted to talk to you about the man who was in here last night."

"You have no... That is not any… How do you know?" she sputtered.

"I heard him, and I heard you telling him you belong to him." Raoul said.

"You had no business eavesdropping on me!" She snapped, the anger growing in her voice.

"I must know why you had a man in your dressing room, and when I entered neither you or him where there!"

"You are a man, and you were in my dressing room, where you not? I owe no explanation to you Raoul." She looked at him, and he saw tears glistering in the crooks of her eyes.

"Christine…" he said tenderly "What happened? Is he some cruel master you owe something? I'll help you Christine. I swear I will."

"Leave me alone, Raoul. I don't need your help, there is nothing you can do for me." she hissed, and closed the door.

"Christine!" he said, and banged on the door.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, and Raoul's hand dropped from the door.

He felt a lump gather in his throat. He clenched his teeth. He would not cry like a baby, he was twenty years old for pity's sake. Men did not break down weeping like a girl. But her harsh words had been like a twist of the dagger that was planted in his heart the night before, when he heard that beautiful man's voice behind the door.

"If you want to talk to me, you just have to send for me, and I will come." he said heavily, there was no reply and with a deep sigh, he walked away, feeling more miserable than he could remember he ever felt before.

**OOOOOO**

Christine had sunk to the floor, cradling her face in her hands. She didn't want to hurt Raoul, but he was so unbearably insistent and so terribly insufficient in this moment. His voice had been like an unmelodious grating in her ears, and his kind face had not held any of the mysticism Erik's had. Well, at least before she had pulled of the mask.

She had already thought she had spilled all the tears she had in her, but they started to stream down her cheeks again. She pressed the heels of her palms so hard into her eyes that it hurt and her entire fragile frame was trembling with the force of her crying.

She would never hear her angel again; surely he would never forgive her for what she had done. And did she even want to return to him? It had certainly not been her strict but gentle angel that had screamed at her like an animal in the caves this very morning. The face he had hid underneath the mask had not been the divine one of an angel. She was so confused. She did not know what she felt. She feared him, but then why did she long for him like that? How could you fear and yet…_ love_ somebody. What that what she felt? Love?

She wrapped her arms around her knees, and buried her face in her knees. Why did everything have to turn so complicated all of sudden? Christine had wished desperately to see him for years. And now when she had finally found out the truth, she wanted nothing more than to return to what things were before. If only she hadn't removed his mask. If only he hadn't brought her with him. She hated herself for her cowardice and stupid curiousness. Oh, if only.

**OOOOOO**

Erik was pacing the floor in the music room. What should he do? He had provided his and Christine's relationship with very serious wounds this morning when he went berserk. How could he possibly have been so stupid? Why had he not been able to control his rage? He had to get her forgiveness, or at least he had to try. It was very likely she would never forgive him, but he had to try. Tonight after her performance he would search her out again, and ask for her forgiveness. He could not, would not lose her…

**OOOOOO**

Christine went on stage that night, and was even more wonderful than before. The grief in her voice as she sung the final aria was more real than the audience knew. She received the cheering politely, but there were no sparkling smiles for the audience. She quietly stole herself away from the cheering behind the stage and went to her dressing room. She sat down and her apathetic gaze wandered around the room. It lingered at the crimson rose with the black ribbon tied around the stem that she had placed in a small vase, and then suddenly she saw it. Beside the vase, there was a new rose. She got up so quickly she almost fell, and stumbled to the table. The rose was fresher than the other, but still perfect.

"Erik?" she cried out "Are you here? Erik, please forgive me… I did not mean to! If I had known, I would've never…"

"Shush child, it's you who should forgive me. What I did was unforgivable. I don't deserve your forgiveness." The mirror slid open, and she looked at the powerful and broad shouldered frame of her mentor. "But I will ask for it anyway."

She stumbled forward and grabbed his hands. "I forgive you Erik, if you can forgive me. I promise I'll never touch the mask again. Please, just don't leave me, or I don't know what I should do…"

Erik was taken aback by her sudden outburst. He quickly gathered himself and looked into her eyes, and squeezed her hands.

"I forgive you Christine." he whispered gently, and the wonderful smile that spread on her face, made him smile as well.

He was hesitant as he had helped her out of the boat once more. He wrung his hands nervously. She shifted on her feet, keeping her eyes at his long fingers, instead of his face. She knew as little as him on what to do now. The silence grew unbearable and Erik finally broke the silence, which seemed to stretch out for miles between them.

"Do you want some tea with honey? I'm thinking it would do your voice good after your breathtaking performance tonight." he asked politely.

She finally looked up from his long elegant fingers and smiled hesitantly.

"Yes, I would like that very much." she replied.

"Very well, you can just settle yourself in the music room; I'll bring the tea there."

Christine obeyed and walked to the organ. The pipes where in all lengths and sizes. She let her hands slide across them; it was one of the most beautiful instruments she had seen. Her gaze fell on a massive amount of music sheets. Curiously she looked at them. On the top of them all was a piece with the title, "Don Juan Triumphant" written in an elegantly fluent writing.

She looked at the sheets with fascination; it was way too complicated for her modest knowledge of instrumental music. But as she looked at it, it became clear to her that it was a work of immense genius. She was gripped with the desire to hear the complicated music played. She was so engrossed in the scanning of the music sheets, that she didn't notice that Erik entered the room.

Erik felt anger surge through his body as he saw her scanning the papers. Why was she so curious? He sat down the tray on which the tea stood, and strode to Christine. He slammed his hand down on the table where the music sheets where scattered.

Christine gasped in shock as the sound of his hand slamming onto the table penetrated her mind. She immediately prepared herself for a new episode like the one this very morning. What had she been thinking? Why had she come back? Back to the man who caught her with his singing and hypnotizing nature, and yet filled her with the deepest fear. As she looked at him, she saw nothing of the nervousness that had filled him before. It was now only his smouldering anger.

"Who gave you the permission to look at this?" he hissed.

"I'm sorry…" she stuttered "I just looked at the organ, and I saw this. I didn't mean to be nosy… I didn't…"

He yanked the music sheets from her hands. She stumbled backwards by his forceful movements, and braced herself at the edge of the organ. He brutally gathered the rest and shoved them into the leather briefcase. He went to a commode, and put the score in the top drawer and closed it forcefully.

As he turned to her again, he saw the fear in her face, and his anger disappeared immediately. She was afraid of him. Once again he cursed himself, and her. If only she hadn't pulled of his mask. If he had the time to warn her, to tell her why he wore it… but she had to tear it of him, had to make him lose his temper. He had done her so much wrong. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry Christine; I shouldn't have become angry with you. But for the future, if you see this lying open, do not touch it or read it under any circumstances." he said in a softer tone of voice.

"Of course Erik, I'll do as you say, but what is so horrible about that opera? You are so gifted with music, what can possibly be wrong with it?" She sensed his anger had passed, so she dared to exclaim: "I would so much love to hear it."

"No, that is not possible Christine." he snapped.

"Why not?" She asked curiously.

"Because it burns." he simply stated "Now the tea is getting cold." He motioned for her to sit in the plush scarlet sofa.

She sat down and arranged her blue violet skirts carefully around her. She was very conscious that she had acted shamefully brazen the night before. Antoinette had always been very strict about her daughter and foster daughter's manners and sense of propriety.

"_A woman's reputation is very frail, and even more so when she works in a theatre. Many men looks upon actresses as whores, therefore you must always be careful of what you do."_

It was shortly after Christine had almost been raped that Antoinette had told them about how things worked, and Christine had also seen plenty of women who gave the actresses of the world this rumour. A girl like Desirée was a good example.

She looked up and received the teacup from Erik; an amused smile was playing on his lips. He had seen how overly careful she had been with not showing anymore of her body than what was decent.

She took the cup, and blushed slightly when their hands brushed against each other's.

'What is wrong with you, Christine Daae? You're never like this with any other men you know. Don't be so ridiculous.'

They drank their tea in silence. She felt his gaze on her all the time, and she felt terribly clumsy.

Erik watched her. She was so lovely while she sat there. The blue violet dress brought out same colour in her eyes, and she averted his gaze all the time. It had been quite amusing to see her overdo the whole arranging the skirts into a fan. He thought at how she had been dressed when she first came down the night before, and smiled at the thought that she was so careful now.

"Well, would you like to go to sleep now my dear? Or do you wish to do something else first?" he asked her.

As if on a cue, Christine yawned. She had not even noticed that she was tired before he asked her.

"I think I would like to get some sleep, Erik."

"Very well, you know where you room is."

"Yes I do. Goodnight Erik." She walked to the carved door that led into the Louis-Philippe room.

**OOOOOO**

Erik looked at the young woman who was sitting on the divan. She was painfully beautiful as she was bathed in the light form the petroleum lamps. The overflow of aquamarine silk skirts of her gown fell to the ground. The petroleum light made it seem like her creamy skin was glowing. She was chewing slightly on her full bottom lip with a concentrated frown on her lovely face. Her thick mane of curls had been neatly put up with ribbons and hairpins; it pained him to see it. Her hair was far too glorious to hide it away like that. In a strange way it reminded him of her. The passionate woman had been alive in his arms the first night she had been with him. Now the decent and proper girl had replaced her again. How he wanted to free her hair, wanted to run his hands through the silky strands of it, wanted to see what it would look like spread out on his chest damp with the sweat from heated love making.

He got painfully aware in which direction his thoughts were heading, and shook it before clearing his dry throat and asked hoarsely.

"Do you wish to sing with me, my dear?"

She looked up from her book, and a smile spread on her face.

"Yes, I would love to Erik." Carefully, she placed the bookmark between the sheets in the book, and laid it down. With grace, she stood up and walked to the organ.

"What do you wish to sing?"

"How about Othello? The last duet between Desdemona and Othello was so breathtaking."

"Yes, it was magnificent. I'll just find the score." He rummaged through the different music score in a cupboard.

He returned with the score, and started to play.

Their voices clashed in the dynamic climax of the song, their voices rung out in the high arched room. Colours swirled behind her eyes as her voice ascend. She felt weightless, like she could fly. As the song finished and their voices echoed in the room, Christine felt dizzy and grabbed a hold of one of the pipes of the organ, which were still vibrating with from Erik's haunting playing. Her blue violet eyes were huge in her lovely face.

She had never expected that singing could be such a drugging thrilling feeling as she had just experienced. Her mind was still spinning.

Erik looked at her mesmerized. He had known their voices would be perfect for each others when they lost themselves in the singing, but this was beyond what he had ever imagined.

"You managed that very well Christine. I am more proud of teaching you to sing than anything else I've ever done." he said and looked down on his hands.

She followed his gaze. She was fascinated with his hands. They were very long and slim, and very elegant. It seemed like music was always electrified around those hands. They were so sensuous. Like the first time she had been there and seen him play, she was suddenly filled with a desire to know how it felt to be touched by those hands. His caresses had been so sensitive the night he had brought her here for the first time. She yearned for his caresses once again, and yet she feared them. Feared she would lose control.

Erik saw how she looked at his hands. His hands were deceiving, he knew that. His hands was transfixing on people, they only saw the pale elegance of his long slim fingers. They saw the sensuality and the music of his hands. They did not see the murderers fingers covered with the blood of all the men he had killed. Blood was so easy to wash away; he was the only one who could see it. Yet he had created her voice, a voice that even Israfel, the angel that mastered the music of heaven, would envy her. A voice that could sing tears from the eyes of angels and demons.

He himself was a demon, who hoped for salvation in the light of her soul, the innocence of her steadfast heart and the depths of her eyes.

"Thank you Erik, but it is you who inspire me. Without you, my singing would be lifeless and dull. It's you who makes my song take flight. I've given you my soul" she clasped her hands over her mouth as she realised what she had said

Erik looked at her, highly surprised at her bold confession. Even though he had not lived among people for a long time, he knew it was not appropriate for a decent girl like Christine to talk to him like that.

He gathered himself and smiled softly to her "No emperor could ask for a more generous gift. Your soul is beautiful, my dear."

She bowed her head and blushed. He sighed and looked at the old grandfather clock that stood in the corner. The time for her to leave was drawing near.

"I must bring you back now Christine. You are going to perform soon."

**OOOOOO**

In the following weeks, Christine's days where laid in a regular pattern. She would sing on stage in the evening, and kindly fight off Raoul's consistent attention. Afterwards, Erik would come and take her to his home. She would sing with him, be tutored by him, and he would sing to her and read from Shakespeare, Dante, Omar Khayyám, John Milton's "Paradise Lost", and all the great writers of time.

As she got to know him, a terrible truth dawned at her. Erik wanted her. She saw it in the fire which was in his eyes when he thought she did not notice he looked at her. It filled her with dread, and yet also longing. She wanted to reach out and feel that fire, but she did not dare to do so. Because she feared him, she feared the face she knew lay beneath the mask, and she feared his unpredictable nature and temper even more.

**OOOOOO**

Christine was talking to Meg; she had neglected her friend terribly the last week. Erik had had errands to do, so he had returned her earlier than normal. Meg was trying to pump Christine for information of where she disappeared off to all the time. It was to no avail; Christine cleverly avoided all of her tricky questions.

Meg finally gave up and they started to chat about meaningless small things that young girls do. Suddenly when they talked a shadow fell over them. Both girls looked up surprised, and saw the sensual shape of Désirée standing before them.

"What do you want Bourchard?" Meg asked brutally, the two young women had been enemies since the whole affair with Adrien.

"Calm down_ Petit _Giry. I didn't come over here to talk to you, I came here to talk to our new prima Donna." she sneered.

Christine carefully ignored the mocking tone of the dancer's voice.

"What do you want to talk to me about Désirée?" her tone was civil, but it was laced with badly hidden contempt.

The dancer was the biggest flirt in the entire opera house; it was women like her who gave women in the theatre industry a bad reputation.

Désirée's eyes narrowed. She clearly heard the contempt in Christine's voice.

"I just want to say to you I hope he is worth it, because otherwise, you are a fool to reject one of the richest and most beautiful men in Paris."

Christine frowned "What do you mean?"

Désirée laughed mockingly "You really are stupid. I'm talking about the Vicomte de Chagny. He is violently in love with you. But you reject him! You could be so rich if you became his mistress."

"Go away Bourchard. Not all of us are sluts like you." Meg said with despise.

Désirée's eyes narrowed at Meg, but it was Christine she lashed out at.

"So what does he do for you, this secret lover of yours?" she asked menacingly.

"I don't know what you are referring to." Christine said calmly, but cold dread welled up inside of her. How could Désirée know about Erik?

Désirée laughed. "You haven't spent the night in your bed for almost two weeks! I'm sure you don't know what I am referring to." She was all virginal innocence, but her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Christine's cheeks flamed red.

"I knew it!" she said triumphantly. "Is he any good among the sheets? Is he like a wild stallion between your legs?"

Christine felt anger rise in her, but she gritted her teeth hard together and controlled it. Her cheeks were almost the same colour as Désirée's red dress. She was repulsed by the older girl's shameless talk, and yet ashamed, because she _had _longed for Erik in her bed. Her nights had more than once been haunted by dreams a good Christian girl shouldn't dream.

"I'm sure the Vicomte could use some comfort. You ruthlessly reject him all the time. He is so noble hearted and innocent. Maybe I should be the one who makes him a man since you won't. I simply don't understand you. Your lover is probably some rich ugly old brute. Tell me… the bruises you had on your arms the night after your first performance, were they made by him? Does he enjoy beating you?"

"How dare you!" Christine screamed.

Christine saw red. She had never been angrier in her life, and before she had the opportunity to control her anger, she flung herself at Désirée, and placed her small fist right in Désirée's face.

The older girl fell backwards with a heavy thud, and all the chattering in the dressing room stopped suddenly. Christine looked at Désirée who lay on the floor before her, with a surprised look, as if she did not now how she had gotten there.

"Christine!" Antoinette's voice was like the crack of a whip. "What do you think you are doing?"

Christine's jaw dropped at the sight of the red dressed dancer on the floor.

"Miss Daae, you'll come with me this very instant!" Antoinette said and grabbed Christine by the arm and pulled her along to her office.

Christine sat down, nervous. It was rarely Antoinette got angry.

"Would you please tell me why you struck down Désirée?"

"I didn't mean to, but she was provoking me. I just lost control." Christine said.

"Whatever she said, it does not justify you to hit her!" Antoinette said sharply.

Christine slumped shamefully in her chair, and looked down on her feet.

Antoinette walked in front of the desk and leaned on it, and turned the young girl's face to hers.

"I know that Désirée is an intriguer, and she probably deserved it, but this is nothing like you Christine! I am ashamed that you lost control like that. You never have trouble controlling yourself. It was an uncivilised act you have just performed, Christine."

Christine felt the tears start to rise in her eyes. Criticism from Antoinette made her feel so lowly and shameful.

"It was an act of a child. I'm very disappointed with you. You are eighteen in a few months. You sing the main role at one of the worlds most famous opera houses. You are a grown woman with the responsibilities of a woman, and you can't act like a child anymore Christine."

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again. I'll behave better I promise." Christine whispered thickly.

"There, there child." Antoinette said comforting "There is no reason to cry."

'Yes there is', Christine thought, 'because I am a fool'.

**OOOOOO**

The night before the last performance of Hannibal, Christine had returned with him again. He was sitting in the deep scarlet armchair by the fire. She was sitting by his leg, resting her head at his knee. Her hair was lose and was spread out over his thigh.

He was letting his long fingers run through the cool silky curls; he felt the stirrings of desire in his body at the feeling of her silky hair, the smell of her rose scented body and the warmth of her body against his leg.

His hand repeatedly glided across her head before losing itself in the thick mane of curls. The caresses were sweeping and sensual, and Christine had to suppress an urge to shiver with blind pleasure at his touch. Instead, she let the liquid gold of his voice wash over her. It was a soft song that was so horribly sad. It told of the forbidden love between a nightingale and a white rose.

"_Night after night, the nightingale came and asked for divine love, but even though the rose shivered at his voice, its petal's remained closed. Flower and bird, two species that that never were meant to mate, but in the end the rose conquered its fears and by that forbidden union the red rose, who Allah had never intended for the world to know." _

As the song finished, Christine's eyes were hurting from suppressed tears. The song reminded her so much of her and Erik, and her fear for his love. She felt so ashamed. For years she had yearned for him, ever since she had first heard him sing. But now, when what she had wanted for so long was within her reach, she didn't dare to reach out and grasp it.

It could not go on like this. Christine trembled and hesitantly she turned half around, and looked at his hand which lay on the closed book on his thighs. Carefully she curled her fingers around his slender hand.

"Erik I…" Her voice faded, and she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.

With her heart hammering in her breast she looked up into Erik's eyes. The intensity of the desire in his eyes almost swallowed her up, and she choked on the words forming on her tongue. What was she going to say to him anyway? That she wanted him in her bed? That she wanted to seek refuge from all her doubts in his arms? That she wanted him to take away her scruples and make her his wife? What was it she wanted? The desire slowly faded in his entrancing eyes and made way for a resigned hopelessness. Christine lowered her eyes, and felt Erik release his hand from her grasp, she bit her lip and fought against the tears.

"I think you should go to bed Christine. The final performance is tomorrow night, and you should not be worn out for it." Erik said. His voice was hoarse.

"Yes you are right." her voice was thick from her suppressed weeping. It was a pain even to sink.

Christine got up clumsily, and dried the tears from her face. She walked to the door of her room, turning in the door. He sat half covered in shadows; the part of his face not covered by the mask was expressionless. He was staring into the fire.

"Goodnight." she said miserably. She got no answer and she entered her room.

Erik was staring into the flames that were burning calmly. The click of Christine's door shutting seemed to echo through the entire cave. He slumped back into his chair, took the mask off, and covered his face with his hands. He had simply thought that the old song was beautiful, he had not thought at how perfectly it matched him and Christine's relationship.

He rose heavily, he wanted her, and by all men's Gods he wanted her. She declared she belonged to him, but why did she shrink away from him? He saw the confusion, the fear and the longing in the depths of her eyes. He sighed and found his violin. If it had been plain primal desire he felt, everything would have been much easier. Primal desire could be quenched, but the exorbitant obsession he felt for her was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Desire and silly infatuations could be repressed he had done that before, but this overpowering craving for Christine was impossible to extinguish. He was unmercifully and inevitably obsessed with Christine Daae. The problem was that he did not just want her body. It would have been easy to seduce her with his voice, and take what he wanted. But he didn't want her that way. He wanted all of Christine. He wanted her body, soul and voice. He wanted for her to come to him loving and willing.

He let his fingers slide across the sparkling tree, and slowly over the strings. He picked up the bow and slowly started to play. The tune was sad and mournful.

Christine was lying in the black swan bed and curled into a ball underneath the scarlet covers. She laid her arms around a pillow, and sobbed silently. Then the violin began to play. There were no words in the melody, but it was so full of the deepest sadness that the tears started to stream down her cheeks. The music was heart wrenching. Her throat constricted and she wept into the pillow. Her entire body was shivering with the convulsions of her crying. How was it possible to yearn so much for a man, to be so drawn to him, and at the same time be so afraid of him? She felt so confused.

Erik finally put the violin down. He was not sure how much time had passed by. The clock showed over two hours had passed. He put the violin away and looked at the door to Christine's room. He moved towards it. He just wanted to see her sleep, nothing more. He lit a candle and opened the door. She was lying curled up in a ball, her slim arms around one of the pillows. Her cheeks held clearly traces of dried out tears.

Christine heard him enter. His steps were hardly audible on the Persian carpet. The bed shifted as he sat down, and she had to force herself to keep breathing as if she slept. She wasn't prepared when he brushed his fingers across her cheek. It was so gentle it was hardly a caress, but it still sent a jolt of fire through her entire body. She was barely able to stifle the jerking of her head at his gentle touch, but the content sigh she was not able to prevent slipping from her lips as his fingers removed the traces of her tears.

"Why can't you not see, Christine?" he whispered, the longing and sorrow in his voice almost made her cry again.

"Why can't you just let go?" His fingers followed the lines of her face to her lips.

Christine's heart was beating so violently she was sure he would hear. His fingers followed the outline of her lips, but then suddenly he snatched his fingers away and left the room quickly.

She sat up, and followed the path his fingers had taken. She could still feel the burning feeling of his touch. She wished she was able to let go. She did, but a dreadfully consuming dark abyss stretched out before her, and she did not possess the strength or the courage to jump across it.


	15. Troubled emotions

**A/N: **Hello, here is my latest chapter dear readers. I'm sorry for the long waiting for this chapter (again) SORRY, but I've been terribly busy with my exams, and I've really had some trouble with this chapter. Got totally writers block, wrote it once, hated it and rewrote it all again. Now that I've got summer holiday I hope I can make the updates faster.

**Monroe-mary:** Aww man thanks your review meant so much to me. I would just defend myself. Erik doesn't expect Christine to jump right into bed with him, but he wishes for some sign of love, but she doesn't give him that. That is what he is mad about. And Désirée I know she's a bitch, but I really enjoy writing about her. And of Susan Kay, she is my main source. I LOVE that book. And about Raoul, don't be too pleased to soon…. (Evil snigger and rubs hands together)

**Lynn:** Thank you very much, it's was a nightmare to write the last chapter, but an enjoyable nightmare (frowns "hmmm that doesn't make sense does it?")

**GoldenLyre**: Thank you. I like the sensuality, and yes things are heating up.

**Dancer of the opera:** Well we just have to see about the happy ending, you just have to read on

**Native dancer:** No precious I haven't forgotten my aaaangel's (bad joke I know)

There is M-rating in the end of this chapter…. Don't like it… Then skip it.

* * *

Chapter 14

Troubled emotions

Erik had been thrashing on his bed for several hours, not able to get any rest. The sight of Christine with her hair spread out on the scarlet sheets and her cheeks marked with tears was etched in on his retina. He could still feel her skin and the wetness of her tears. He threw the covers that felt like they were suffocating prison off of him and stood up. Quickly, he dressed and walked to the music room. He paced about it wildly before pouring himself a drink, which he downed quickly. After two more, he felt the comfortable calmness settle over him, and he put down the glass. He started pacing the floor again. She had to go away. He had to have some time to regain his self-control. Another night like the one before, and he was afraid he would lose control; he had needed to tear himself away from the night before. The temptation with her lying defenceless before him had been nerve-wracking.

He groaned and sat down. The next production did not start until a week; a week away from her should be enough to regain his composure, to restore the walls of his mind and his iron control that her presence was breaking down. Yes he would return her and tell her that he had business to attend to. He had to.

**OOOOOO**

"What? Why?" Christine asked with surprise.

"I have some business to attend to Christine. There is no possibility that I can teach you for the following week, but the new production starts next week, and I will train you for the leading role."

Christine held her teeth shut, and controlled the bitter disappointment that welled up inside of her. He was sending her away like she was some little child. 'You're in the way, go home Christine.' Well, if he didn't want her with him, she didn't want to be with him either.

"Very well, then take me back," she said in a snappish tone, and walked to the gondola.

Erik looked at her highly surprised. What on earth was wrong with her? He shook his head and walked to the gondola. He stepped inside it, and held his hand out towards her. Christine looked at it hesitantly before setting her face in firm lines. She gathered her skirts around her and stepped into the gondola without his help. Erik looked searchingly at her. He saw the uncertainty in her lovely face. He sighed and stepped into the gondola and started to sail it back.

**OOOOOO**

She marched past him into her dressing room, head held high, and the silk whirling around her like a storm. Erik looked at her rigid back, and then said:

"Next week, go to the fifth depot after saying you are going out, it will seem less suspicious. In the depot, find the cupboard with the costumes from the abduction of Seraglio. Inside it, behind the costumes of Konstanze, you will find a hasp; the passageway behind it will lead you straight to your room. But remember to close the door properly behind you, and bring a candle. It's easier that way. I will be expecting you at ten, my dear."

Christine heard the soft click of the mirror as it closed, and an incredible feeling of hopelessness overwhelmed her. She sat down with a soft thud at her boudoir. He had acted as if he enjoyed her presence. Had he found her ugly as he came into her room last night? Was that why he shunned her away from him like this? He treated her like a child. She placed her elbows on the marble tabletop and buried her face in her hands. She sighed heavily. Why did it all have to be so complicated? She cared greatly for Erik, but she could not see through him. One moment he acted as if she was a goddess on earth, and the next he shrunk from her like she was an appalling demon. She looked into the mirror. Her face was hopeless. She grimaced and she forced her face into hard lines.

"You don't need him," she said forcefully to her reflection.

She looked at herself for a few seconds, before the hopeless face returned.

"Yes you do, you stupid girl..." she whispered brokenly. The tears threatened to spill. She bit her teeth and pressed her eyes shut, wiping away the few tears that had spilled on her porcelain cheeks. She wouldn't let herself cry again.

There was a soft tapping on the door. Christine sighed heavily and rose from the boudoir.

"I'll be there in just a minute," she said, and looked at her reflection.

She took a few hoarse breaths, pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to regain some color and shook her skirts in order. Then she walked to the door.

"Good day Mademoiselle Daae," Raoul stood outside with a huge bouquet of pink and white roses, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

"You don't have to call me by my last name Raoul, we have known each others since I was six," Christine said with a soft chuckle. His heart made a painful leap inside his breast at the sound.

"Indeed we have Christine. Here, these are for you," he said and gave her the bouquet.

"They are lovely, thank you very much," she said with a smile, and brought the roses to her face and took a deep breath.

Her nose was filled with the sweet scent. They were not the intoxicating smell that the roses Erik gave her possessed. She winced, but the roses covered up her face. Don't think about him. She looked at Raoul and then cast a glance to the mirror; it could be no crime to receive flowers from an old friend.

"I'll just put these into water," she said, and let the door be open as she walked to one of the many vases with flowers. Since she had performed in Hannibal, she had received new bouquets of flowers every day. Calmly, she replaced Raoul's bouquet with some lilies there were slowly withering. Then she turned to the door again, and walked to it. She did not ask him inside. It was not proper.

'You've spend the night in another man's home many times, is that proper Christine?' She asked herself.

"Look Christine, before you say anything, I would like to ask you to dinner after your performance tonight. If you refuse me again, I won't ever bother you again."

Christine hesitated. She looked at Raoul and then at the mirror. She was a grown woman and Raoul treated her as such, and would not brush her away like a petulant child like Erik did. She would spend some time with an old childhood friend if she wanted to.

"I would love to dine with you tonight, my scarf saver," she smiled.

Raoul shoved his teeth in a grin, which would without a doubt be able to make all the ballet girls swoon, with pure delight of her acceptance. Her one rejection after the other had made him want to weep bitter tears when he came home, and yet he had seen every single performance of Hannibal to see her.

"If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I just have to change."

"Of course, Christine. I'll just wait at my carriage outside. You can just come when you are ready," he said and stumbled down the corridor. He tried desperately to keep up the dignity that was expected from a vicomte, but it was hard, as he wanted to run and scream with joy.

**OOOOOO**

Christine was happy for the time with Raoul. They talked about old times; he took her to dinner, or simply took her out walking in the streets of Paris. Every time she looked at him, her heart would make a soft jump in her breast. He was exceedingly charming and she enjoyed his company more and more for every day she spent time with him.

The night before Christine had to return to Erik, she and Raoul were strolling about the Bois de Boulogne. None of them were noticing the dark figure, gliding from shadow to shadow, following them.

Raoul looked at Christine's face which was illuminated by the full moon. His heart constricted. He was so devastatingly in love with her. He wanted to hold her close to his heartbeat, kiss her full lush lips, know her thoughts, and protect her from all harm. Yet, he did not dare to declare his thoughts to her. He did not know if she liked him as just a mere friend or as something more. Then there was also that man's voice he had heard in her dressing room, and the fact she had not spend the night at the dormitory for weeks. His felt a deep surge of jealousy at the thought of her being someone else's mistress. He breathed deep and then asked her:

"There is something which has been occupying my mind Christine."

"Yes Raoul, what is that?" she asked him calmly as she watched a pair of swans swimming in a small pond.

"You rejected me for weeks when you played Elissa, and then suddenly you wanted to have dinner with me after all."

She stiffened in a few seconds before she relaxed and then replied smoothly, "I am sorry I treated you cruelly, but there were some obligations which I had to fulfil. That was why I could not dine with you," she wrapped her pointless silk shawl tighter around her fragile looking shoulders.

"Did it have something to do with the man's voice I heard in your dressing room at the gala night?" He asked, pushing on. Digging deeper even though it was terribly impolite. He had to know if she had obligations, as she called it, to another man.

He watched her back grow rigid. They had stopped and he looked at her curls, which were shining in the moonlight. She rested her hands on the railing of a small bridge on which they stood. He covered her small black gloved hand with his much larger one. He knew it was more intimate than he was allowed, but he needed her to know he was there for her.

The eyes that looked up at him were rimmed with tears. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her lithe frame began to shake. She looked so utterly and completely heartbreakingly helpless. The tears started to flow down her cheeks. He hesitated for a few seconds, but then pulled her into an embrace. She did not make any attempt to reject his comfort. Instead she sobbed brokenly into his chest; Raoul laid his one arm around her, his other hand stroked her soft curls.

"Please Christine, tell me. I won't judge you. I'll help you I swear."

**OOOOOO**

Erik watched them, with a jealousy so violent he almost felt he should suffocate from it. He watched as the painfully perfectly handsome young vicomte laid his arms around Christine. How dare he! Christine belonged to him, how dare she! Had he not informed her years ago that she was not allowed to go gallivanting around with young men? That no exploits with admirers were allowed? He had given her, her voice, care when she was all alone. And now when he turned her away for a week, she responded by strolling around the moonlight with the Vicomte de Chagny like a couple of young lovers.

He had left his home underneath the opera house to feel the air on his face, to get some peace in his mind. And now what should have been a relief, only had added to the burden of sorrows and worries there already was on his shoulders. The thirst for vengeance started to boil in his heart. She would know she belonged to him. Oh yes she would.

**OOOOOO**

Christine did not reply to the question. She clung to Raoul and cried like there would be no end of it. She broke down; she had not been able to cry out by the shoulder of another for ages, and she let all her frustration, her confusion her fear and her longing spill. Raoul just held her, rocking her gently stroking her hair, holding her in a way Erik never had, offering her comfort.

Finally she drew a hoarse shivering breath. Her throat hurt from all her crying. Raoul felt her head move against his chest. She was like a fragile little songbird in his arms.

"I can't Raoul, there is no way I can tell you. But I'll tell you that you don't have to worry about me. I will do just fine," she croaked

He grabbed her chin, and turned her face towards him. Her eyes were red and swollen from her crying. Her eyes held a sadness that made his tenderness for her swell even more.

"You can tell me Lotte. If he has some kind of bond on you, I'll help you break it," he said urgently.

She looked into his eyes; her own took on a fervent shine.

"I have not put any bonds on myself against my will Raoul." She looked into the darkness, not seeing her surroundings, but something inside her head. The small smile on her lips worried him far more than her despairing sobbing few minutes ago.

**OOOOOO**

Christine was making her way through the corridors of the opera house. Depot number five had not been used for quite a while. The costumes for the abduction from Seraglio were hanging and gathering dust as the opera not had been performed for years. She coughed as she made her way through the sparkling colors of silk, the dust settling over her.

She searched the back of the closet; her finger's feeling for the hasp Erik had been telling her about. She was eager to see him again. As captivated by Raoul's charm she was, he could not make her shiver with one glace from his golden green eyes, not make her feel like she was on fire with a single touch.

Her finger's suddenly thrust against the hasp, and she let out a small yelp of pain. Then more carefully she released the hasp, and she felt a cold gust of air flow into her face. She coughed a bit again, before pushing open the door. She crept inside passageway behind the door, feeling uneven rock underneath the soles of her boots. She shivered in the cold, and then lit the candle she had brought with her. The light flared and spread a warm glow in the damp cold passageway. She rose and started to walk. She lost track of time as she moved through the darkness, the only sound the slight dripping of water and her own breathing.

Finally she bumped straight into a door. She let out a surprised shriek. She fumbled at the smooth tree underneath her hand, and grabbed the doorknob. She swung the door open, and as Erik had said, she had ended in her room. She put down the candle, and lit the petroleum's lamp with the candle. Her heart was pounding with anticipation; there was nothing but a door separating her from Erik. She longed to see him again, and hear his voice.

The gold framed mirror shoved that she was still covered in dust. She shook the skirts of her white day dress, before smoothing them over again. Then she unpinned her hair, ruffling it to get rid of the dust in her hair, and combing it. She had twisted it around her fingers, wanting to put it up again, but then she let it fall again. She looked prettiest when her hair was down. Finally she washed her face and hands at the washstand. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to gain more color in them both. She had not noticed that a ridiculous, excited smile was plastered on her face. After several tries to put her face in more serious lines, all in vain, she gave up and walked to the door that let to the music room. She opened the door, and peeked outside; her smile disappeared and was replaced by a frown. There was no one there; the only source of light was the dying embers in the fireplace.

"Erik...?" she asked hesitantly, but there was no answer.

She opened the door fully and walked to the room.

"Erik are you here?" Why was he not here? He had said he expected her at ten. She could just make out the pointer's on the old grandfather clock, and it showed it was ten minutes past ten. She had missed him. Why was he not here?

"Well, well the lost protégé returns." His voice sounded from a deep armchair near the fire. She jumped at the sound of his snarl.

The petroleum lamp by his deep armchair was lit, spreading a soft glow around where he sat. The whiteness of his mask was glowing softly, but the rest of his face was clouded in shadows. But even though she could not see his face properly, she felt the anger radiating from him. He picked up a glass from a small table beside him, and drowned the golden liquor down. He looked more dangerous than she had ever before seen him.

"I'm surprised your young Vicomte let you come back, my dear. He has less sense than I thought."

Cold dread washed over Christine. How could he have known about her and Raoul? How was that possible? Oh by God she had been so stupid! She had not been nearly careful enough. Naturally he had to go up from the cellars sometimes. A great feeling of remorse rolled over her. Oh God what had she done? Lie, It echoed in her mind. Don't let him know, lie. He rose from the armchair.

"What do you mean Erik?" she said, trying to sound careless, but the shivering in her voice betrayed her nervousness.

She didn't even notice she was inching away from him. He made an intimidating image as he walked towards her. His shirt was only partly buttoned. The danger radiated from his broad shouldered frame. She could see from the decanter on the table that he had drunk plenty, but his eyes did not held any of the swimming drunkenness she had seen so often in the eyes of Joseph Buquet. His eyes were clear, and held the very furiously burning flames of Hell.

"You know very well what I mean! I know you have been gallivanting around the whole of Paris with him this week!"

Christine opened and closed her mouth, not knowing what to say. Erik's eyes narrowed and the fire in his eyes broke free to spread a look of rage on his face.

"Not even trying to deny it, are we Christine?" His voice was low, but she clearly heard the undertone of the promising releasing of his violent temper.

"I-I-I didn't do anything; he didn't try to do anything Erik, please..." The last part came out as a shivering sob.

"I saw you together!" he roared, his hands grabbing her shoulders and shook her.

She suddenly felt the instinct to defend herself well up inside of her. She had to reason with the madman. She tore herself form his painful grasp. She did not know form where her courage came, but she yelled:

"You treat me like a child Erik! Raoul treats me like an equal, like a woman! He tell me what he feels, instead of blocking me out and rage on me like an animal!"

She felt the wall connect with her back. She had not realized she had moved that far. She could feel his anger swell in intensity as she called him an animal. With a fierce grace he strode towards her, and grabbed her shoulders again.

"Don't you dare call me an animal again, Christine! I've been called an animal as I lived in a cage, robbed by the dignity normal human beings a granted naturally, because of my face Christine! Don't you ever dare say that to me again!"

His voice was so controlled it was scary, and yet she could hear his anger in the shivering of the calm voice. Her eyes widened in shock as he spoke. Had he really been kept in a cage like a wild animal? She immediately regretted her outburst and the fear crept back into her as she saw his eyes. And yet the fear was mixed with pity… a cage?

He released her shoulders, letting his hands slide up the pearl embroiled bodice. His mood had changed drastically, now lust had taken the place of his anger. She saw it clearly in the burning of his eyes.

"Your soul belongs to me Christine. So you say, although you seem unable to observe my very simple conditions I set for your teaching."

Christine gasped slightly as he grazed the top of her breasts, which were pushed up by the corset. His strong warm hand settled around her throat in a firm grip. Christine's eyes widened in horror, and panic spread through her body. She froze completely.

"And this voice belongs to me too," he said, his voice flowing like silk from his lips. She shivered in sheer pleasure at his voice, yet the pleasure was mixed with terror at the sensation of the firm grip around her throat.

He let go of her throat, and instead grabbed her by the arm and dragged her towards the organ. He released her so suddenly; she had to grab a hold of the organ pipes. He sat down, and looked at her with a wild gaze.

"Sing for me Christine," he rasped. "Sing for me with my voice."

"Erik I can explain..." But Erik was not interested in explanation.

"Sing!" he snapped, and pushed the tangents of the organ, that let out a fierce roar.

She recognized the aria, and it seemed completely wrong for Erik's black mood, but she dared not to disobey him .She began to sing Cherubino's aria from Figaro's wedding.

"Tell me what love is, what can it be

What is this yearning burning me?

Can I survive it, will I endure?

This is my sickness, is there a cure?

First his obsession seizing my brain!"

Her voice rose and echoed against the raw rock of the ceiling, making it sound even more wonderful. Erik watched her in awe. She seemed like an angel as she stood there in her white day dress, the thick curls tumbling down her shoulders and face, and the voice that flowed from her rosebud lips was heavenly. It was ironic that her face consisted of such contradictions. Her very face seemed so innocent, and yet she had been given a pair of lips that almost begged to be kissed. He longed to grab her fragile body, throw her down on the floor and ravage her. Plunge into her willing body, her long legs thrown around him, her voice moaning in pleasure as he thrust into her with wild abandon. Making sure that he took what rightfully belonged to him before the Vicomte did.

"Starting in passion, ending in pain.

I start to shiver, then I'm on fire,

Then I'm aquiver with seething desire.

Who knows the secret, who holds the key?

I long for something - what can it be?"

He stopped playing suddenly. In his eyes blazed a wild fiery hunger that scared her. He wrapped his arms around himself and breathed harshly, she could see his finger's digging into his arms.

Erik welcomed the pain. It gave him concentration and he turned his head away from her, quenching the thoughts his unmerciful mind conjured up.

"Erik, are you alright?" Her voice seemed to come from afar, but he sensed she had kneeled down beside him.

"Yes child, I'm perfectly fine," he rasped.

"Are you sure?" Christine asked and reached out her hand towards him.

"Don't touch me!" he yelled desperately. "I just…" He did not finish the sentence, but stood up from the organ, brazing himself against the pipes, putting distance between him and Christine.

Christine was befuddled. No, more than befuddled, she completely and utterly confused. What on earth was happening to him? His mood changed so suddenly she hardly could follow it.

Erik never knew what possessed him to do what he did then. Maybe it was the liquor he consumed, or maybe he was simply going insane as many people in his past had claimed he was. He sat down again, his expression was a whirlwind of emotions, and she was not able to separate them from each other.

"You want to know what I feel Christine? Then listen!"

His fingers started to move across the keyboard with extreme force. The music from his Don Juan Triumphant echoing throughout the room. Christine's mouth fell open in shock, and she arched her back uttering a primal primitive sound. The music beat down every part of her body in its torturous gloriousness. It almost hurt to listen to it; she rolled onto her belly, and clasped her hands over her ears. It was almost like when she had pulled of his mask, except this was much worse. It was murderous, vengeful, hateful. She looked at the masked man. His face was twisted by an angry sneer and his entire body was moving as he played. She saw the sweat spring forward on his forehead.

"Please stop Erik! Please stop, it hurts!" she cried.

Erik finally stopped, his breathing rapid and harsh as if he had just ran for miles. His strong chest heaved with effort.

Shortly after he started to play again, Christine immediately clasped her hands over her ears again. She knew it would be to no avail. His music penetrated one's mind, and there was no defense against it. But this music was so different; it sneaked into her ears, and caressed her skin like a lover. Her lips parted, and she put down her hands in wonder.

Then, his voice started to accompany the music, and she closed her eyes, shivering as a feeling she did not know the name of started to wash over her. It was like in the chapel, only much more forceful. She pushed herself to her knees, spreading them to the side. His music swept over her like there was actually someone there caressing her skin.

He had stopped singing again, but then he spoke to her. "Touch yourself Christine." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but she could hear it clearly in spite of the sound of his music and the roaring of her blood in her ears. It was impossible to refuse that voice. It called to her, lured her to do as he asked. Her hands moved down to cover the place between her legs where a dull throbbing had formed. Her lips parted and she moaned softly.

"Under the dress," he whispered again.

She hiked the dress up, and let her hand dive into her pantalets. She was throbbing, and she let her finger travel across her swollen outer folds. She moaned again with pleasure. All thoughts of the indecency of lying and caressing herself in the most intimate of ways in front of a man was blown away from her mind. All that existed was his voice, his music, and her hands. Her fingers circled the swollen bud, and she threw her head back by the pleasure that surged through her.

"Put them inside of yourself," he rasped hoarsely.

Christine did as he asked, and arched her back, groaning deeply as her fingers sunk into her sex. She started rocking against her fingers, thrusting them in and out of herself in time to the pulsating tones of the music, occasionally withdrawing them and circling the throbbing bud.

Erik watched her hands moving inside of her pantalets, her head thrown back in ecstasy, moans of pleasure coming from her lips. He was so excited himself that he felt like he could explode. He wanted nothing more than to remove her hands, and replace them with his own throbbing sex, taking what he wanted and giving her pleasure. He clenched his teeth even though he had a hard time catching his breath. The music did not only affect her, but also himself.

The music rose and rose in roaring desire, and he watched her as the movement of her hands grew more intense, faster, her moaning bordered on screaming. Her eyes closed in ecstatic bliss. Then the crescendo exploded, and she arched her back her screams of ecstasy echoed along with the music.

Christine's body flumped back down on the ground again, her breathing harsh and uneven, her body weak from her orgasm. She was trembling wildly, and then realised what she had done. Shame unlike anything she had felt before overwhelmed her, and she quickly removed her hands, standing up quickly, letting her gown settle around her ankles again. She felt dizzy and completely, utterly satisfied.

Erik was watching her silently.

"Please leave me Christine," he pleaded, and then his voice grew more insistent. "For goodness sake leave me. And lock the door, by God lock the door!"

Christine needed no further invitation. She fled from the room, her cheeks burning with shame and ecstasy. She slammed the door shut and her hands clumsily fumbled with the key, until she heard the relieving sound of the key locking the door. She threw herself on the bed, curling into a fetal position.

Erik was breathing heavily as Christine fled from the room. Had she stayed he would have without a doubt taken her. He in a way already had, only not with his body, but with his music. He freed his throbbing sex from the restrictive prison of his pants. Shame overwhelmed him, but his body demanded release. He grabbed his rock hard cock between his hands and started to stroke himself violently. He only had to look at where Christine had been lying and writhing in ecstasy, before he felt himself throb harder than ever. His pace grew urgent; his release was so close he could almost taste it. It was not his rough hands stroking himself. No, it was Christine's womanhood enveloping him, her legs around his waist, as their bodies met with desperate force. Her voice coming out in those low moans that almost were screams of delight. His hands grabbing her breast, and the muscles of her vagina tightened around him, as he lost himself to the blissful pleasure of the climax, Christine clutching him to her.

He felt dizzy as he came down from his climax. He buttoned his pants quickly. The reality was not that beautiful. In reality he had raped her with his music, and she had fled from him, locked him from her room and her bed. She would never welcome him there. As the reality came crushing down on him, he screamed with anger and pain. He rose, and in a red haze of anger, he grabbed the table beside him. Music scores flying from it into all directions, he threw the table down to the floor, watching it shatter to pieces.

Christine had listened to the shattering sounds of the destruction in the room beside her. His animalistic screams cutting through the underground, penetrating her ears. She buried her face in the pillow, feeling shame and terror overwhelm her as the tears gushed forward. She yearned for Raoul with desperate longing. Safe and loving Raoul, who would never bring her to the edge of fear like Erik did. By God what had she done? She had shamelessly pleasured herself in front of him, the music making her forget everything. Was that really what he felt? How was he able to contain such hatred, anger, murderous thoughts, lust and desire without being torn into pieces?

Now that she knew his feelings, she was filled with nothing but dread, she feared him more than ever. She dared not see him again. She did not want to return to him…

"Never more..." She cried into the pillow. "Never more…"


	16. The concern of others

**A/N: **Hahahaha I've gotten some great feed back on the sexuality in the last chapter, glad you liked it, I did so myself. If you want to read my real explicit work then look up under Wild rose at Aria, there you will find my totally smut fiction of Gerry Butler. Also you can check at for the seductive story contest, I'm puplished at Branwen in that thread. Okay enough of that.

This chapter, I like pretty much myself, but the connection of the things I'm not that sure of, feel free to be very honest, I don't mind that, but no flames. It has a scene with Meg and Christine, which I'm very happy about, because I until now really has neglected the portraition of their relationship. There is also more of Desirée that lovely little bitch.It contains a lot of thoughts and refelction over Christine's conflict from her own side, which I'm quite satisfied with as well.

Thank you again to Thegoddessofdeath, you are my goddess.

**Native dancer: **Thank you, I tried to make it as intense as I could and I'm glad to hear my efforts weren't in vain.

**Lynn:** I am sorry, but the rest of the story will probably not be as sensual, butmind you there will be more sexuality, since after my opinion it is a big part of Christine and Erik's relationship.

**Arent Inman:** Thank you, disgusting perverted geezer, but I love you anyway.

**EriksIngenue:** Thank you for the feedback, I'm very flattered that you think it was the sexiest you've ever read.

Also, I will be in Great Britain for abotu two weeks now, so I'm not entirely sure of when I get to post the next chapter. I'll try to write onthe next chapter as much as posible.

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Chapter 15

The concern of others.

Erik woke the next morning collapsed on the floor among scattered music sheets and destroyed furniture. He dragged himself of the floor, and winched, his neck hurt like hell after spending the night on the floor. He blinked; he had no remembrance of how he had gotten to the floor and why the things around him were shattered. Then the entire night before came rushing back to him in painful clarity. He groaned what had he done!

He looked at Christine's door, if she had any sense the door would still be very carefully locked or otherwise she would have fled entirely from him. How could he ever face her again, after last night? Not since he had been at the gypsies had he experienced such shame. He hid his face in his hands, and then he rose heavily. If she was still there, he had to talk to her. Slowly he walked towards the door, it seemed like it was miles away and he was on his way towards his own execution.

"Christine?" he knocked the door carefully. There was no answer.

"Christine!" he knocked the door harder.

Christine was sitting at the bed, when he knocked at the door. She rose, panic spread in her body. The letter she had finished only minutes ago lay on one of the scarlet pillows. She gathered the gown around her.

"Christine" he called again.

She shivered, she wanted to open that door, and seek comfort and safety in his strong arms, but the memory of what had transpired between them the night before, filled her with shame. She could not face him; she could not sort out her emotions anymore. Everything inside of her was blended into a whirlwind of confused feelings for him. Fear walked hand in hand with pity and desire and compassion weaved into each others.

"Please Christine, I need to talk to you!" he yelled, his voice was shaking, and she felt herself tremble, she could not face him.

With a last desperate look to the door behind her, she walked to the door that let to the passageway. Putting his intoxicating world behind her, for now, she needed to be alone, time to think.

**OOOOOO**

Back in the dungeon, Erik had finally lost patience he knew it would frighten her, but he had to talk to her. To see her, try to mend out what he had destroyed last night. He broke in the door. The sheets bore mark that she had slept in it, but there was no sight of her. Then his eyes caught the cream coloured letter that lay on one of the pillows. _Erik _it said with Christine's fluent handwriting. He snatched the letter, and slumped down on the bed. Parts of the short letter were almost unreadable with tear stains.

_Dear Erik_

_I am so confused; I don't know what is going on with me, and what I feel anymore. _

_What happened last night has only increased my confusion Erik, that's why I've left you now with this letter, I do not have the strength to face you myself. _

_I would appreciate if you do not contact me Erik, I need time to think. I will contact you my angel, I'm afraid if I see you again it will affect my judgement. _

_Please…_

_Your Christine. _

The letter fell from his hands; it rustled as it hit the floor. He hid his face in his hands, but the tears would not come and free him from the pain in his chest. He could only feel the ripping of pain in his throat of unfulfilled crying, but the tears would not come. It seemed to him that he had never in his entire life experienced so much regret as he had done the last month.

What was it about Christine that made his control break? What was it that made him hurt her so? What was it about her that made him destroy their relationship? Great God, what was it she did to him. He shook his head, the answer was so simple. _Love _He loved her with every fibre of his being. He looked at the letter, he would do as she had asked him to do, he would not contact her, but watch over her he would. To make sure that snivelling little vicomte did not get that near to her again.

**OOOOOO**

Christine stumbled out into the costume closet, and fell to the floor tangled in the voluminous skirts of Konstanze. She got up, panting for breath, and hung the costumes back where they belonged. She quickly made her way back to the dormitory, she knew the rehearsals would have started by now, and she found the dormitory completely empty. Relieved Christine found a simple blue gown, and made her way to the bathrooms of the opera house.

As she had taken a bath she stood before a mirror and dried herself. She stilled her movements and looked at her body. She was beautiful, Meg had told her several times, and she knew she was. She was lithe and looked fragile, but if one looked closer they would see she was strong from the years of ballet dancing. Her hair was slowly popping into curls as it dried; she shook her head violently, the water cascading from her hair. She loved her hair, the colour of fresh chestnuts in the sun, as well as her eyes, they were the deep blue colour of the sea a startling contrast to her dark hair.

She looked at her breasts, she had always been disappointed about the size of them, they were rather small, and she had often looked at Meg with envy. Meg had the full curves of a woman, while she herself was slight and had a much more boyish figure. But she smiled proudly as she let her hand slide across her belly, Meg did not have her tiny waist. Then her eyes suddenly darkened with pained emotion. She was thinking about the expanse of her chest and waist when she had had one of the most frightening experiences of her life down in vaults of the opera only last night.

Enraged with herself she put on her undergarments, lacing herself harshly, which would probably bruise her, but she didn't care. The blue day gown was to follow quickly; the sleeves were long enough to cover the horrible purple imprints of long slender fingers on her arms. She walked fast to the rehearsals. The cast and crew were going through rough vocals of the script of the opera they were about to stage next, Il muto. Auguste Renard and Carlos de Valle were going through the duet where the Comte's loyal friend, where accusing the Comte's wife for adultery.

As she entered everyone lifted their heads from the script, and looked at her. Monsieur Reyer looked at her sternly; Christine knew he had been very proud of her that night at the gala, it was clear to her now that he was very displeased with her absence.

"I am terribly sorry that I am late Monsieur Reyer" she looked down in the floor.

"Do you have a reasonable explanation Mademoiselle Daae?" he was pointing his baton at her with a sharp look on his eyes.

Reyer seemed much more gentle than Madame Giry, but looks was deceiving, he was just as sharp, and held the orchestra in a sharp hand.

"No I do not Maestro, I am sorry" Christine looked at the chorus and dancers under lowered lashes. They were all staring at her, each with a different amount of disbelief. Was this Christine Daae, who had never missed a rehearsal unless she was sick, who now said she had no reason for keeping away?

Also monsieur Reyer looked at her with furrowed brows.

"Very well Daae, I do not expect you to do this again" he sighed, Christine knew that the only reason to why she was let of so easily was that she had never done this kind of thing before.

"No monsieur" Christine murmured, and settled beside Meg.

She scanned the rest of the chorus and dancers and her eyes met the dark one's of Desirée, the older girls lips was settled into a cruel smile. She knew that Christine had spent the night at who she presumed was her lover. With a shake of her head she turned her face towards Carlos De Valle. In her eyes was a spark that Christine had seen before. She felt pity for the young tenor; Adrien was the only man she could remember that had been able to resist Desirée's charm and sensuality.

One and a half hours later Monsieur Reyer announced with a weary voice "My dear chorus, dancers and musicians you may be excused, god help you if you are late tomorrow without a good excuse" his eyes found Christine's and gave her a look that clearly stated that this was meant on her.

The staff started to spread, chattering merrily. Christine and Meg walked towards the dormitories. Christine knew the talk was coming, so she was prepared, when Meg suddenly yanked her into an old abandoned depot, she locked the door behind them. It was always in there, they had their private conversations. Two old armchairs a table and a crooked candelabra was all there was in the room.

Meg lit the candles without a word; Christine sat down also without a word. Meg sat down beside her, looking into the candle flame. Christine waited impatiently, why the delay, they had always had an easiness about their talking, what was happening now?

"Yes Meg" she said.

Meg finally turned her gaze toward her, her eyes were confused.

"I don't understand Christine" she said frustrated.

Christine sat silently; she sensed that Meg was just starting up with statements.

"I mean, I've witnessed you leaving with Raoul every single day this week, you've been so careless and seemed happy, and now. You've been absent from your bed once again, and you look horrible, you seem so…" Meg brows furrowed, she could find the right word, she ended up with a plain "sad. Please help me understand".

Christine looked away, how could she possibly understand?

"I cannot make you understand, it's too complicated" Christine sighed.

"And my mind is too simple?" Meg snapped.

"No" Christine choked "It's just, I can hardly figure it out myself"

Meg looked at her searchingly "please Christine, we're like sisters, no more than sisters, have we not always been able to talk about anything?" she pleaded.

Christine looked at the golden haired girl beside her, the girl who was her more dear than a sister could ever be. It was true they had shared everything, their small silly secrets, their crushes, gossip, talks of what transpired between men and women, everything.

"I am so sorry Meg, but I can't, not this time, this is something I need to solve myself"

"No Christine I'm sorry" there was hurtful resignation in Meg's voice as she rose from the armchair and walked to the door. When she had just opened the door, Christine stopped her with one single choked out word.

"Please"

Meg turned and saw Christine with tears spilling from her eyes. The pity overwhelmed her; she looked so lost as she sat there.

"Oh Christine, I wish you would tell me what is troubling you" she whispered as she held Christine, letting the other girl cry in her arms. She felt the tears well up in her own eyes; she could not stand to see Christine in this kind of distress.

"I can't Meg, God I wish I could, but I can't" Christine sobbed. Then she smiled weakly. "I would be rich as an empress if I had a coin for every single tear I've cried the last months" Christine said with a voice that still shivered with the force of her crying.

Meg couldn't help a small laughter as she dried Christine's tears away with her handkerchief.

"Everything will be alright I'm sure"

"I hope so" Christine muttered.

**OOOOOO**

She made her way back to the dressing room wanting some peace and quiet to think, but as she laid her hand on the doorknob a hand closed around her fragile wrist. She looked up, and met the pale blue eyes of Raoul. She winched, she had got away from Erik, to get room to think, and now she was invaded by the other man who had caused her distress in the first place.

Raoul watched as she turned her face towards him, the way her face fell when she saw him was making his heart ache; she did not wish to see him.

"Where were you last night Christine?"

"In my dormitory of cause" she said with a hoarse voice.

"No you were not, why do you lie to me?" he said with a disappointed frown.

"I do not lie to you" Christine hissed, god why couldn't he leave, she loved Raoul, but she was no more sure on her feelings for him, than she was for Erik.

"Yes you do, I asked where you were last night when I came to take you to dinner, they said you were not here, this morning I asked some girl called Desirée Bouchard, and she told me you had not slept in your bed tonight".

"Desirée is nothing but a whore, you should not rely on her explanations" she snapped angrily, keeping her voice low so no one would hear.

"Why should she lie? Christine for goodness sake, tell me what is wrong" Raoul pleaded.

"I can't Raoul, I'm begging you to leave me, I need some time alone"

"You know that I only seek to help you, do you not" he whispered insisting.

"Yes I know Raoul" she said, and released her wrist from his grip, his mournful voice cut in her heart

Raoul took a deep breath and put on his hat

"Very well Lottie, until our next meeting then" he said, heart break was in his voice.

Christine placed her hand on his shoulder "I am very sorry Raoul" her soulful blue eyes were pleading.

He forced on a weak smile "I know Christine"

He strode down the hall, Christine stood in the doorway for a few moments until he turned a corner and disappeared from her view, as she turned to walk into her dressing room, she saw the sensual form of Desirée leaning against a wall her lips set in a mocking smile. Christine held her head high and demonstratively walked into the dressing room.

She sat down at the boudoir, looking at herself. She sat there for several minutes letting her thoughts stream through her mind, without trying to grasp them. What on earth should she do? She had two men who wanted her. She was not sure what she felt for any of them. She had known Raoul when they were children; he went to the naval academy and dissapared out of her life, until the day he showed up as the new patron of her home and work. At the night of the gala he turned into her first admirer, or that was what she had thought.

She had not known another man had watched since she was thirteen, being her unknown admirer all the time. She had been so happy when she saw Raoul again, her old childhood friend, and then… She had seen her masters face, the master she had pledged her life and voice to. The ecstatic joy of finally seeing him had drowned out all the happiness she had felt seeing Raoul again. She buried her face in her hands; it was ever since that point it had all changed. He had been so different from the gentle, strict and distant angel; he had been so fierce, passionate and scary. His terrifying temper, horrible visage, and yet he had been so warm and gentle at times. He loved her with a fire and passion that scared her. Raoul was tender and uncomplicated, the open beauty of daylight. Erik was like the night, unreadable, filled with all the depths and shadows of darkness.

She looked up and saw the red roses stand in the small vase, on different states of withering. One was almost black its petals crumbling. She looked at the mirror, memories of the gala night flashing before her eyes. His face, his voice, she let out a frustrated groan; the dressing room was not a good place to think, to much reminded her of him. The air suddenly felt suffocating, and she shot up from the boudoir chair, knocking it over, and stormed out. She ran, she had to get away from the corridors of the opera, where his very spirit lingered, where the air was thick with his presence. She needed to get to breathe, if she stayed there, she would surely break and run to him again, seeking to forget everything in his arms, letting herself be drugged by his music, letting him take her. Higher and higher she climbed, away from him, away from her desire, away, so she could breathe, think, be without the restraints.

She stumbles out on the roof, the afternoon sun blinding her after she had climbed in darkness for long. She was breathing heavily; she fought back the sickening surge of nausea that came from running with her corset tightly laced. She stumbled to the statue of Apollo lifting his lyre in the air, the copper long since faded into green. She fell to her feet, retching; her body had not been able to stand against it. Her body was trembling, as she rolled away, and crept into a foetal position, as her spasms subsided she felt calmer. She felt the sun heated metal under her back, and she wind whipping across the roof.

She breathing was deep and even as she lay on the roof, her mind clear, she reasoned with herself, it was not an easy situation she was in, but it would not be any better if she forced herself into taking the decisions now. She would join the rehearsals, concentrating on that alone and her friends naturally. She would stay away from Raoul, and if Erik did what she had pleaded him to do, he would keep away from her.

Slowly she rose, carefully avoiding the sight of her own vomit, and walked to the statue of Apollo again. She looked down on the place de l'opera were people were heading back and forward. Her ribbon tore lose from her hair as she stood by the foot of Apollo feeling the wind on her face, her hair blowing around her. Here his overpowering presence was not intoxicating her, not like the night before. She could hear the pulsing tunes of the music inside her mind, the look in his eyes of unsatisfied hunger, the overwhelming and terrifying lust in her body, the way she had wanted to explore his body, let him take her, wanting the burning inside of her to be slaked. She clung to the statue, she could do nothing more than let time reveal her choice to her.

**OOOOOO**

The inhabitants of the older girl's dormitory was rarely occupied in the evening, the most were entertaining their admirer's in one way or the other. It was empty except for Meg who was reading a letter, as Christine entered she looked up with a smile.

"You look dreadful" she said plainly.

Christine grimaced, Meg took after her mother in her sharp tongue, although the young dancer had not yet realised this herself yet, but Christine was sure that when Meg grew up she would be very much like her mother. She went over and changed to her nightgown, carefully sure that Meg did not see the bruises on her arms.

"Thank you very much Meg" Christine said dryly. "Who is writing?" she said with a nod towards the letter in Meg's hand.

Meg smiled mischievously "Oh it is simply Olivier who sends me a letter thanking me for the wonderful night we had three days ago".

Olivier was Megs' conquest, her first since her first romance with Adrien. He was a wealthy merchant son, who had fell for Meg's beauty when she did her first solo.

Christine gawked, then sat down on the bed "You did not..?" half laughing, half scandalised.

Meg swatted Christine's arm with the letter "I did no such thing Christine, we were raised better than to spread legs for any man with wealth like Desirée does"

"And do I do that?" they both turned to the door to see Desirée there.

"Everybody knows you do Desirée" Meg snapped mockingly.

"What would you know about that Giry, yes I live in comfort because I… Whore myself as you so charmingly put it… to men with wealth. I do that because I know that no noble or rich man will marry an actress, singer or dancer unless he doesn't care with his reputation".

"That's a lie" Christine exclaimed heatedly

Desirée's eyebrows flew up "Oh so it is is it? What would you know about that? Has the young vicomte asked you to marry him?"

Christine bit her lip

The older dancer snorted "You are so naïve Christine, the vicomte wants nothing more than your body, slake his lust between your thighs and then move on and marry a proper lady, I know that from experience" Desirée's voice was bitter and spoke of a broken heart.

For a few seconds Christine felt pity for the girl, but that was until her tongue lashed out towards her again.

"But maybe you've already realised that dearest since you were not in your bed last night again, I'm curious as to whom your secret lover is, is he the one who made sure you got to be the leading soprano?"

"You're talking nonsense Desirée, Christine would never do such a thing"

"Would she not?" Desirée had moved so she now stood directly in front of Christine looking down at her, then without warning she grabbed one sleeve of her white nightgown and revealed the horrible black and purple bruises that marked her pale arms.

Shame flooded Christine; she saw Meg's horrified expression at the sight of the imprint of long slim strong fingers on her skin. Quickly she slapped Desirée's hands away.

"It must clearly be something very good he does for you, I can think of no other reason to why else a free woman like you would put up with this" she said calmly, the mock put an ugly twist to her voice

"You don't know anything Desirée" Christine spat, and drew up the sleeves again, and pushed the older girl away.

Desirée smiled and walked from the dormitory, Christine sunk down and humiliated she buried her face in her hands. As predicted she felt one of Meg's hands on her shoulder.

"Christine please tell me that Desirée wasn't right." Meg whispered insistently.

"Of course she was not right" Christine said with outrage.

"Then what Christine, why these bruises, what happened, if anyone has done you harm, you know that maman will put a stopper for it"

Christine laughed bitterly "There is nothing Nettie can do" she said.

"Christine I don't get it, you have Raoul who is willing to do everything for you, and yet you return to a lover who does this to you" Meg said aggressively.

"He is not my lover Meg, he's my tutor"

"You're tutor, you don't spend the night with your tutors" Meg said quizzically.

"As I've said it's complicated, God Meg I don't what I feel for either of them" Christine said hopelessly.

Meg felt confused and helpless, Christine was obviously in trouble, but it was clear she would not shun the man she called her tutor, although she spend the night with him. How could Christine put up with violence like this? Meg did not understand Christine, the choice would have been obvious to her, a kind and gentle handsome and rich man, towards a violent teacher. She hugged Christine, not really knowing what to say, her own love affairs had all been very simple. She tried with a simple.

"Time will solve it all Christine, I'm sure of that" she said, and stroked Christine's thick hair.

"That is the solution I hope for as well" Christine said absently, and lay down on the bed.

"I think I need some sleep Meg, I'm very tired".

"Of cause Christine, I won't bother you anymore." Meg said heavily and rose from the bed, walking to her own.

Christine put out the flame in her lamp, and watched Meg who wrote in the dim light from her own. In her both physically and mentally exhausted state, sleep came to her quickly, just before she succumbed to it she whispered sleepily.

"Meg I'm sorry I didn't believe your stories of the opera ghost"

**OOOOOO**

The two weeks was horrible for Erik. As he had promised himself he would, and as Christine had asked him to do, he did not try to contact her in any way, but he watched her. He watched to rehearsals, in her dressing room, when she walked around the corridors with her friends. He wanted her back with him, wanted her to sing for his music, wanted her to love him, wanted her to forgive him. She had to come to him willingly, there was no other way, and she would, she could not deny the true yearnings and desires of her heart and soul. _Could she?_

The two weeks they had for rehearsal before Il muto, passed by quickly, Christine did not miss a single rehearsal. She resisted the temptation of going back to Erik, she had come to realise that she had almost grown addicted to his music, song and teaching. She wanted to go back to him, and yet she could not. She fought of Raoul, his kindness and his want to protect her. That was until the opening night of Il Muto, were things took a sharp turn and she could no longer ignore the choice before her.

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Hope you enjoyed it, review all of you. That goes for you guys who read the story, but is to lazy to review as well. 


	17. Driven by despair

**A/N: **Hello again dear beloved readers, this is my next chapter, I am very sorry for the horrible long waiting, I hope you haven't forgotten what happened in the last chapter. I've been to England (lovely country by the way), and my editor thegoddessofdeath had broken her hand, so she were slow at writing. That's why the waiting has been long, but hopefully it will not take as long for the next chapter to get to you. But I promise you, that I **will **finish this story, no matter how long there is between the updates, I will not abandon you, I love this story too much to leave it.

Anyway, a bit of information on this chapter, Raoul's brother Philippe makes his appearance in this chapter, I have not forgotten him like the musical has. The events of the gala night is mostly based on the movie. A bit of the lyrics is blended into the dialogue. Christine has now become a mix of Leroux' mood sick and temperamental Christine, and of Kay's more weak willed. Strong at some points and weak at others. There is quite a lot of Raoul and Christine fluff in this chapter.

**Pertie: **I'm very happy you like it and put it on your alert list, and about leaving this story, I think I've answered that.

**TacsGurlJess: **You know what? I love your reviews, a long and commenting review is wonderful, I'm happy you like my portrayal of Raoul, because well I do as well. As you can see I have changed the rating

**ErikIngenue: **I'm sorry I'm torturing you like that, but I will not reveal the ending, it would totally spoil the fun, so you just have to read on and see. I was not in London at all, which probably was good thing considering the terror bombings.

**Lynn: **I know, but it is a cruel world we live in, and I am a E/C shipper so I know what you mean.

**Anonymus: **Thank you so much, I'm very flattered, since I'm a huge fan of the movie, and don't worry I don't think you are weird or anything.

**Mina: **No I wouldn't mind finding him in my mirror either.

**Mominator: **Thank you so much, I'm happy you enjoy yourself

**Melisa: **Thank you; well my editor hadn't edited the chapter because she has injured her hand

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything in this story except self produced character's like Desirée, Zoë, Carlos etc. All credit goes to Gaston Leroux for creating the story and Andrew Lloyd Webber, Joel Schumacher and Susan Kay for being my main sources of inspiration.

I will love to get some feedback on my interpretation of the roof top scene, as well as the scene between Christine and Philippe. Please review to tell me what you think, and if you got any question, then spit them.

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Chapter 16

Driven by despair

"Wake up girls, we have our final rehearsal tonight, and everything has to be perfect!" Antoinette's voice broke the sleep-laden silence in the dormitory.

"Christine, you have to go to the seamstresses' room…Paula is not entirely finished with the opening costume." With those words, Antoinette left, putting the responsibility for the girls to wake up on the eldest girls in the dormitory.

Christine mumbled drowsily and tried to recall the pleasant dream she had been having. She was exhausted by all the harrowing events of last week and she wanted to continue her peaceful sleep but was finding it difficult (with the buzzing of voices that started as the ballerinas and chorus girls were waking up and walking towards the baths.

"Wake up, little Prima Donna; we have a big night ahead of us, and you don't need more beauty sleep; you are lovely even without it." The disturbing voice of Zoë Renard broke into her sleep-fogged mind, and the older girl's teasing hands snatched her covers away.

"Non, Zoë, that is not fair," Christine shrieked, and she sat up, trying to get her blanket's back, but Zoë had removed them from her range.

"You have no need for any more sleep, Christine; now get out of the bed, or I'll drag you out of it." The seriousness of the statement was destroyed by Zoë's jesting voice.

Christine scowled at the older girl, who merely laughed before moving to wake up the other sleepyheads of the dormitory. Zoë was a willowy and light-hearted young woman with thick dark hair, and she was one of the best dancers in the opera. She was also one of the kindest and warmest people Christine had met in her many years in the competitive and superficial world of the opera. The ballet rats adored her; she was very maternal despite being only twenty-three years of age. When they needed advice they sought out Zoë much rather than La Sorelli, the prima ballerina, who was much to preoccupied with balls, parties, and her countless lovers and admirers to deal with the problems of the lowly ballet rats. Christine was most certain Zoë would make a wonderful mother and wife when she married her fiancée, Sebastien Manotte, a solicitor who had been captivated by her charm and sweet nature.

Christine groaned and rolled out of the bed before standing up and gathering her things for her trip to the baths along with the others.

**OOOOOO**

Christine, Meg, and one of their mutual friends, Marie, were walking towards the stage area. They all were going towards the seamstresses room to get costumes fitted the last time.

"Mademoiselle Daae," a deep and educated voice sounded from the corridor just by the door of La Sorelli's chambers. Together they turned to find a tall dark haired man standing against the wall.

"Philippe, Comte De Chagny." He bowed impeccably for the girls "We met many years ago, but you are most acquainted with my brother, Raoul."

He walked towards them, motioning to stand in front of Christine; he seemed to be waiting for something, and suddenly Christine realised he expected her hand.

She quickly extended her hand. The fact that Raoul's strict older brother wanted to talk to her had taken her by surprise, causing her forget to her manners. He lifted it to his lips, and brushed his lips over the knuckles.

"Yes, I remember you, Comte Philippe, although many years have passed since we met," she said, nervousness flooding her.

Philippe's piercing gaze had always made her feel clumsy and awkward. He was a tall, fit man in his mid forties; Christine noticed that even though Raoul and Philippe's eyes were similar in colour, Raoul's were the most beautiful because of the trust and kindness in them. Philippe was an experienced man, intelligent and firm, and it showed in the hard glitter of his eyes.

Philippe could not help to give his brother credit for his taste. The Christine he had seen ten years ago had changed. She was not the little wild creature he had known, but a graceful and beautiful woman. Tall and lithe with a thick mane of chocolate curls and a pair of blue eyes, her lips full and sensual, her face held the perfect amount of both innocence and eroticism. The pale skin and the deep blue eyes revealed her Scandinavian heritage. It was not hard to see why his brother had acted like a lovesick fool during the last few months; she was stunning to look at, but Philippe was surprised. He had expected to find a mood-sick superficial woman, but the brightness and gullibility of her eyes told of a woman not yet corrupted by the false theatre world. The melancholic aure around her could easily draw a man in, and her innocence and fragile-looking form would inspire protectiveness in any man, and yet she seemed completely ignorant of it of it. Could it really be true what his mistress Sophia Sorelli had told about her when he had asked?

"_She is a sweet and good-natured girl, everyone likes her, but I am afraid your brother will be severely disappointed if he tries to claim her; she has not spend the night in the dormitories for weeks."_

"Can I exchange a few words with you, mademoiselle?"

Christine looked at Meg and Marie, her eyes pleading for them to stay or say the rehearsals were too soon, in order to spare her. Philippe made her feel nervous and somehow guilty. Meg made no movement to leave, but Marie, who didn't know Christine's body language as well as Meg, grabbed the blonde girl by the arm and said, "Naturellement, your grace; we will tell Paula you'll be late."

"Thank you, mademoiselle," he said, bowing elegantly towards Christine's friends.

Meg left with Marie, giving an apologetic look to Christine.

"I trust you are well, Mademoiselle Daae," he said. There was no expression in his voice or face that revealed his intensions in his desire to speak with her.

"I am very well, Comte," Christine answered politely.

He cursed under his breath. "Enough of superfluous politeness. Can I speak plainly with you, Christine?" Christine was just as surprised by his use of her first name as she was by his request.

"Yes, surely." Her curiosity was lit.

Philippe started to pace in front of her, but his sharp gaze never left her face. "My brother has seen much of you in this past week, non?"

"Yes, he has." Christine felt as if ice was filling her belly.

"Did you sleep with him?" Christine was shocked beyond words; she had would have expected such a question from the likes of Desirée or maybe from Meg, who was her best friend, but not from a well brought up gentleman she hardly knew.

"No, I did not. Despite of what you may think of girls from the opera, we do not spread legs for any man with wealth and title. I was brought up well." Christine clenched her hands in anger.

"I apologise for insulting you, Christine, but I have heard rumours you are not as virtuous as you seem." His statement cut into her like a knife.

"What do you mean?" Christine's voice was shaking with suppressed emotion.

"I mean that I've heard from a reliable source that you have already taken a lover, because you have not spent the night in your bed for the last two months." He watched her face carefully.

"I do not think this is any business of yours, monsieur," Christine said flatly.

"Oh, I think it is, mademoiselle. Raoul has been acting like a mindless twit ever since he saw you at the Hannibal gala. I will not tolerate him being made a fool by a mere opera singer who already has a lover. I care too much for him to do that." Philippe's voice was harsh and cold as he spoke.

"You care too much about him or about your family reputation?" Christine asked with a voice so icy it would have made a lesser man than Philippe De Chagny sink to his knees.

"I do not think you have any right to enquire about my relations to my brother," Philippe snapped. She hid her hurt with her anger; his words cut deep, that he thought so lowly of her.

"And I do not think you have any business to enquire about my personal relations," Christine bit back.

Without warning Philippe grabbed Christine's arms and shook her. "You will not make a fool of him, damn it woman; you will not lure him to marry you! I will not see the De Chagny name destroyed by an impure singer without wealth or connections."

Christine looked calmly at Philippe. He had been much more threatening in his mental balance. She knew he was not a man who would use violence, at least not by his own hands. And after having experienced Erik's outbursts of horrifying temper, and the anger that seemed more as a promise of violence, it would take more than a Comte with wounded pride to intimidate her.

The nobleman looked at Christine. She now seemed completely in control of the situation, like she was used to brutality from men, and he lessened the grip on her slender arms. The thought that she should be used to violence was a shock to him. As angry as he was, he would never be able to make himself strike the young singer.

"I am not interested in your brother's money, Philippe. It has nothing to do with my affections for him, and I am sorry, but I have no more time to be insulted by you. I have a costume fitting." She courted for him and spun around, leaving him in fast strides.

**OOOOOO**

Gilles Andre was sitting in the office he shared with Firmin, settling his accounts, when a hysterical female voice cut into the pleasant silence.

"I am able to put up with many insults, but this…!"

An elegant and formal looking note landed on his accounts. The ink on his account books was still wet, and the letter was a bit smudged. He swiftly grabbed the letter, recognizing the dreadful grinning skull on it. The letters from the mysterious _O.G_ all carried that seal. He looked up to see the temperamental figure of the earlier Prima Donna standing in front of him. Behind her was her lapdog of a tenor.

"Ah, Signora Guidicelli, pleased to see you again," he said politely. Secretly, he couldn't stand the temperamental diva.

"No more tricks, Andre!" she hissed. "I demand an apology!"

"For what?" he asked, highly surprised

"For that!" she shrieked, outraged, pointing a heavily-jewelled finger at the letter. Andre picked it up and read it.

_**Signora Carlotta,**_

_**I am delighted to see that you have not felt tempted to seek the opera after your little mishap with the stage screens. We now have a true star instead of you and the miserable screeching you call singing. But I will warn you, should you attempt to steal your old place back, I will make sure you regret it bitterly. **_

_**O.G **_

"I assure you, Signora, I have not written this, and neither has my partner," Andre said.

"What is going on? Ah, Signora Guidicelli, are you back to take your old place?" Firmin appeared behind Carlotta and Piangi, still in his coat and hat from his walk in town.

"Another letter from this _O.G_ to Signora Guidicelli, Richard, she is here to complain"

Firmin clicked his tongue. "This _O.G_ is beginning to get on my nerves, Gilles. Signora Guidicelli, I trust you don't think that we sent you this letter?"

"Who else should write this to me? Christine Daae?"

"Now, I really must protest!" Andre cried, outraged. "Mademoiselle Daae would never do such a thing…she is a decent young woman."

"But now that you are here, Signora, I ask you to come back for tonight's gala," Firmin said nonchalantly.

"Excuse me?" both Carlotta and Andre asked, highly surprised.

"Yes, naturally… It was not long ago that Il Muto was performed, and you played the role of the countess with great success. I do not think that little frail girl Daae can take on such a task; do you remember the score?" Firmin removed his hat and cast his gloves in it while he sat on Andre's desk. He saw Carlotta hesitate. "Obviously the offer goes for Monsieur Piangi as well." His hand fished two contracts from the drawer and laid them out on the table.

"Of course I do," Carlotta said and puffed herself up, making her seem like a chicken, her ridiculous feather-filled hat only adding to the effect. She bent down and signed the contract, Piangi following her example.

"Very well then, report to the dressing room to have the costumes changed for you, and I believe you can join for the last rehearsal this afternoon."

"And Daae?" Carlotta asked.

"I think she can be moved to the role of the pageboy," Firmin said, his eyes falling on Andre's face, which was set in lines of disbelief.

"I will go to the seamstress' room immediately," Carlotta said and hurried out of the door, Piangi following her closely. When the door closed behind them, Andre turned towards Firmin.

"What on earth are you doing, Richard?" he yelled. "Christine Daae has an angel's voice, and you want to replace her? She is wildly popular among the public! You cannot be so tone deaf as to think Carlotta is a better singer…"

"Relax, Gilles, I have it all under control. We can't afford to lose a name like Carlotta or Piangi. The rich go to the opera to show off their wealth; they don't care who is singing. When this production is over, we will give the post of Prima Donna back to Christine, and Carlotta will fill in the supporting roles."

For a minute Andre still scowled, but then a deep heartfelt laughter rose from his throat. He laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

"You old scoundrel, Richard…you are a genius!" he chuckled and patted his partner on his arm.

"We get both Carlotta and Christine; I shall look forward to see that vile woman's face when we give her a small role at the next production," he chuckled again, and sat down to continue on his accounts. The thought of Carlotta filled him with glee, he couldn't stand the diva.

**OOOOOO**

"Paula, how on earth will I ever be able to walk in this dress without falling over?" Christine laughed as the older woman sat and adjusted the seams of the enormous dress from Louis the 14th's period style.

"Well, maybe we shall have some dwarfs to walk under your skirts holding it for you," Paula chortled, and Christine joined her heartily.

Suddenly the door flew up and Carlotta strode inside in pompous dress, heavy jewellery on all her fingers and around her neck. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Christine.

"Get out, little toad…the managers have rehired me," she mocked, snapping her fingers towards the door.

"What?" Christine was shocked, and she looked at Carlotta with disbelief.

"You will no longer take my place, little girl; this opera house's true star has been rehired, and you will take the mute role of the pageboy." This statement was followed by a merry and scornful laughter.

Coldness settled over Christine, and she was shaking with anger.

"Fine," she hissed. Oh, how she wanted to slap that superior smile off the horrible woman's face.

"Will you please get me out of this costume, Paula?" she said, her wonderful voice twisted with anger, tears of fury and humiliation stinging her eyes.

Paula quickly unlaced her and helped Christine out of her costume. Christine threw on her gown and swiftly fastened the buttons. Then she stormed out of the door, refusing to look at the diva. Just when she reached the door, Carlotta's profoundly-jewelled hand shot out and settled in a firm grip around her upper arm, where the bruises from Erik's hands were. She winched with pain.

"Careful, Daae, you will not want me as your enemy," she hissed, so low Paula could not hear it. Christine, who stood higher than Carlotta, looked down at the dark Italian face that was set in a dark angry scowl beneath all the makeup.

"I thought we had been enemies since I joined the chorus, Signora," the Scandinavian girl replied calmly, ice in her voice.

Carlotta smiled just as coldly as Christine's voice had been. "Well, now you are even more my enemy than you already were."

Christine tore herself loose from the older woman's hard grip and passed by her without an answer. When she heard the Italian slam the door shut and start to bark out orders to Paula, she started running. She reached the dormitory and threw herself down on her bed, beating the madras in fury before collapsing into tears of humiliation and disappointment. She heard the door open, and she recognised the firm steps of Antoinette. A warm hand settled on her shoulder.

"Come, darling, you must be fitted into the page boy costume." Antoinette's voice was free of its usual strictness; it was as soft and gentle as her hand.

"How can they humiliate me like this?" Christine choked.

"I don't know," she said "Now sit up, my dear," she said, tugging on Christine's shoulder.

Christine slowly sat up; her limbs felt as heavy as lead as she got herself into an upright position.

"There, there," Antoinette said, and she hugged Christine carefully. She fished out a handkerchief and dried the young girl's swollen eyes.

"Now be proud, don't let them see that this affected you. Hold your head high," she said and gently patted Christine on her cheek. "Come, Suzette is waiting to get the pageboy costume adjusted for you." Antoinette dragged her foster daughter with her.

**OOOOOO**

"I've only just heard, Christine…it's perfectly awful, I don't know how they can prefer that horrible woman to you." Meg flew in through the door dressed only in her underskirts, chemise, and corset.

Christine was filled to the edge with bitterness, and Meg's outburst was the final drop. "I wish someone would make her croak like the toad she is; then she could feel as humiliated as me," she spat.

Meg laughed heartily "Oh, that would be wonderful."

Christine sunk down on the fitting stool and cried out desperately, "No, I couldn't wish for anything that horrible." Her shoulders slumped, and she left Suzette standing helpless with all her needles in her hand.

"Oh Christine, ma Cherie, everything will be fine," Meg said, kneeling down beside her. She ruffled her chocolate curls and rocked her gently from side to side.

"Megeara Katérine Giry, cover yourself up, you scandalous girl!" Antoinette's voice cracked, and Meg shot up from her position beside her friend.

Suzette handed Meg a dressing gown with a smile. The discussions of propriety between Giry junior and senior were well known among the employees of the opera house. Meg loved to wear dresses that showed of her wonderful figure, but her mother claimed that the dresses made her look like a whore. Fights about the subject were often heard through the hallways of the dormitories.

"As information dear, I can tell you that Carlotta Guidicelli was once a very talented soprano and a great beauty." Meg snorted with disbelief

"It's true, Meg Giry," Antoinette said, and poked Meg in the chest with her baton. "But her need for material goods and her decadent lifestyle, as well as her neglect of her voice, has brought her to what she is today," Antoinette said. "Now stand up, Christine, Suzette can't do her job when you and sitting like that." She gripped Christine by her shoulders and hauled her up from her slumped position.

"Wait and see; it's only a matter of time before you are in the lead role once again," Antoinette said, walking towards the door. Just before she left the room, she turned half around and looked at her daughter with a crooked smile.

"And Meg…"

"Yes, Maman," Meg said, and immediately clutched the dressing gown closer around herself.

"I think that Salome is missing you on her fitting stool." Christine released a snort of laughter, and Antoinette left the girls with a smile. Meg grinned and kissed Christine's cheek before leaving the room.

"Now Christine, I need to get this vest adjusted," Suzette said, and swatted Christine on the belly with a striped vest in several pastel colours. "And stand straight, girl, I thought that was what you learned when you dance ballet," she said, and Christine straightened up with a weak grin.

**OOOOOO**

Erik was watching the rehearsals from box five, and he felt a surge of violent rage as Carlotta paraded onto the scene in the huge pink costume. He grimaced with disgust; he had not minded when she first got to the opera… Back then she had been at the prime of her career and an excellent singer, but as the years progressed she became too much of a diva, waltzing in and out of the rehearsals according to her mood, and she would throw herself into a temperamental tantrums when her wishes were not fulfilled. Had she not neglected her voice she would most likely had been a great singer, but now she would only do in a small role, one where audiences would not be tortured by her voice for longer than bearable.

And the managers, who loved to mingle with the rich and noble born… _'Those fools!'_ he thought with contempt. They thought it was themselves who reined the opera house! Of course, the old manager, Lefevre, had thought that when he first arrived as well, but he had quickly learned his place in the monarchy of the opera. These two thickheaded idiots were proving annoyingly ignorant of him. He had started with polite remarks, but when they ignored him, he went on to write threats, which they still disregarded.

He looked down onto the stage and saw Christine standing in her page costume; his face softened at her sad expression. What was it she had said? "Croak like a toad," he muttered under his breath, and he couldn't hold back a bout of gleeful laughter. It rung out over the auditorium, and all activity stopped suddenly.

He smiled cruelly. Oh, they would pay for defying him. Everyone did.

**OOOOOO**

Christine was adjusting the ribbons of her hoses when Antoinette came over to her. She was clutching several notes in her hand, and she cast watchful glances up to the scaffolding over the stage.

"What is it Nettie?" Christine asked, and she followed the ballet mistress' glance up. When she didn't see anything except the stagehands fidgeting with the ropes and ladders, she frowned and looked at the other woman.

"Christine, you must be careful… I suspect that Erik is getting very angry; I've read his latest notes to the managers." Christine looked at the notes in her hand.

"Yes, these," Antoinette said, and she clutched the notes firmer between her fingers "Oh my, why are they ignoring his threats and my warnings?" Antoinette said, horrified. "I fear he has something planned for tonight… He doesn't give up, and he'll do something to make them understand he is not to be ignored." Antoinette shivered and then looked Christine straight into the eyes.

"You know just as well as I what he is capable of when he is angered, Christine. Be careful, and make sure that your Vicomte doesn't venture into the corridors tonight. Erik knows this opera house better than anyone else." Before Christine could answer, Antoinette had put the notes in her pocket and hurried towards the ballerinas, hushing them.

Christine felt uneasiness settle in her belly, and she couldn't help but cast a nervous glance towards the ceiling as well. It was more than just nervousness for the opening curtain that gripped her. She muttered a silent prayer under her breath and walked in to take her place onstage with Carlotta.

The deep red and golden drapes parted, and Christine peeked out through the curtains of the four-poster bed. Carlos and Francoise, as well as the lead bass, Gregory, took up the roles of the countess's servants in the story. They hurried forward and started to sing the introduction for the story.

"If you ruin anything for me tonight, Daae, I'll make sure you regret it," Carlotta hissed, and pointed at the young girl with her fan like a sword.

Christine merely took her position behind Carlotta and put her arms around the diva, like they had been instructed, putting her face in front of her. Carlotta unfolded her fan and held it out before them. Christine suppressed a sneeze at the powerful smell of peppermint and ginger, which made out the two main ingredients of the diva's pointless mouth spray.

"If I ruin anything for you, it'll ruin something for me," Christine whispered.

Francoise pulled aside the curtain and revealed Christine and Carlotta. She pretended to be startled, just as the manuscript called for, and watched Carlotta slide of the bed as graceful as possible in her huge pink gown.

Everything was going fine… Christine had to suppress a giggle at Meg's and Piangi's antics, and Christine let herself believe that Antoinette had overreacted, when suddenly in the middle of the countess's first aria, she heard his voice booming over the entire auditorium.

"**Did I not instruct that box five was to be kept empty?" **

Christine's eyes darted towards Raoul, who was sitting in box five with a highly confused expression upon his face, searching for the source of the unearthly and threatening voice. Just behind her she heard Meg whisper to a few of the other ballerinas with an eager voice.

"He's here, the Phantom of the Opera!"

"It's him…" she whispered almost to herself.

This immediately brought Carlotta back to her senses, and she snapped, "Your part is silent little toad!"

Christine looked aggressively at Carlotta as the leading lady scurried to her maid. The auditorium was filled with low muttering. The hauntingly beautiful and harsh voice had started a buzz of conversation, every regular attendant in the opera had heard of the opera ghost. Now they were all talking about the infamous ghost eagerly. The voice had created a break in the otherwise very average performance. The most was disappointed that the newly discovered diva did not sing the leading role.

Christine looked up at the rafters, searching for Erik's cloaked form, but she only saw Joseph Buquet run behind the scenes. She returned her eyes to Carlotta as the diva reappeared to the stage with all of her charm in the smile she sent to the audience. For a few seconds, Christine saw the talented and ravishing beauty the Italian once had been.

She got a warning glance from the glittering dark eyes that lay behind all the white makeup, and they both resumed their position before Carlotta started singing again. The audience had barely a second to wonder at the strange crisp tone of the countess when it happened.

Carlotta _croaked_. Everyone was stunned, and for a few seconds no one said a word. Then, after a moment, the audience started to giggle. Christine almost felt pity for her rival when she saw the completely humiliated and horrified expression on her face. Shaking, she resumed her singing before it was again interrupted by a series of hoarse, deep croaks.

Carlotta released a wail and stormed out of the stage in tears. The crowd laughed, and for a few moments no one could figure out what to do. Luckily the two managers came onto the stage; Firmin, still his cool self, only had to smooth his hair back, while Andre, who was quite a bit heavier than his partner, was panting heavily when they arrived.

"Will you bring the curtain down, please?" Andre snapped breathlessly.

Christine and Meg, who had joined each other on center stage, had to jump away so they weren't hit by the enormous amount of velvet that dropped in front of them. Christine listened to the managers stuttering apologizes before she felt a bony hand grip her arm and pull her through the curtain. She barely realised that she had been announced to replace Carlotta before she was pushed back through.

"Please hurry, Mademoiselle Daae," Firmin whispered, and Christine hurried behind the screen placed by the dresser. The props managers rushed out to find a costume that could be used since no one wanted to disturb the diva, who had locked herself into her dressing room.

Paula returned with a pink dress from the abduction from the Seraglio. Christine recognised it as the very same dress she had made tumble down off its hangers when she went to Erik only a few weeks ago. She beat the dust from the dress and held it up in front of Christine.

"I think this will do," she coughed. "Sadia, who this was made for, was about your size," she said. "Maybe a bit bigger, but you are very slight," she muttered with a smile.

Hurriedly, Paula helped her out of the pageboy costume, and Christine was put into the fluffy pink gown and equipped with one of the spare wigs. Paula left, and Christine waited behind the screen, watching Meg and the other ballet dancers throw themselves into the ballet of the third act. Suddenly someone patted her shoulder, and Christine spun around with her heart pounding in her chest, every nerve in her body tense. She relaxed when she saw Antoinette's familiar face, but she paled when she realised what it was Antoinette held up to her. This blood red rose was the most beautiful she had received thus far. She had no doubt it was Erik who was responsible for Carlotta's croaking… He had to have heard her in the dressing room to get the idea.

Her heart leapt in her breast when she heard people starting to scream. Christine and Antoinette turned around and saw with horror that Joseph Bouquet was hanging down from the rafters with a noose around his neck, his body shaking with death cramps. Christine felt a wave of nausea crash down upon her at the sight of the corpse falling onto the stage, the sickening thud of his dead weight echoing through the auditorium as he crumpled to the floor.

"Oh God, Erik, what have you done?" Antoinette whispered, her eyes wide with horror as she braced herself against the wall. There was no doubt in the two women; they both knew who was responsible.

Fear gripped Christine. "I have to get Raoul away from here" she gasped, and ripped the wig from her head, making her curls tumble down her shoulders. She gathered the voluminous skirts around her, and ran towards the boxes. Halfway towards box five she bumped into Raoul.

"Raoul!" she yelped, taking a hold of his arm "You're not safe here…" With those words, she dragged him into the depths of the opera house, searching for the staircases that led to the roof.

"Why are you running, Christine? The others will be terrified when they find you are gone after what just happened," he said as he stormed after Christine.

"He'll kill you!" she replied as she shot nervous glances around her, constantly expecting to see Erik's towering and powerful cloaked form coming out of the darkness.

"What? Christine, who will kill me?" he gasped. Christine's many years running up and down the stairs had made her a lot faster on the narrow steps that filled most of the staircases.

"The Phantom," she said in a hushed voice.

Raoul felt uneasiness settle in his stomach. Who was it who scared Christine so much? The so-called phantom didn't exist.

"He isn't real…he's just a myth! Who is this that scares you like this?" Raoul said, stumbling further on in his chase after the curly-haired girl.

"Oh yes, he is very real," she almost shrieked, and Raoul almost felt dizzy as they ran up the winding staircase. He was breathing heavily when he stumbled out on the roof, he started to shiver as his sweat cooled in the strong wind at the roof.

"Christine, what is this nonsense about phantoms who want to kill me? There is no Phantom of the Opera!" he gasped and tried to calm his breath as he watched Christine stand alone, a dark silhouette against the gleaming lights of Paris far below them.

"Oh God, Raoul, you don't know what you are saying… He _is_ real, and he will kill you if he finds you," Christine whispered, her voice barely audible against the wind whipping across the roof.

"How do you know? Why would he want to kill me?" Raoul tried to sort out his confused thoughts.

"Because of me, Raoul, because I've seen him…because wants me, and he thinks you are a threat to him," Christine replied, her entire body shaking with the emotions raging in her slight body.

"You've seen him…" then it all suddenly dawned on Raoul "It's him, isn't it?" He strode towards Christine, turning her towards him. "He's the reason you've been missing so many times."

"Yes, that's why!" Christine almost screamed. The relief of finally being able to confide in someone was overwhelming. Raoul gripped her arms and felt her fragile body shudder as if she were overcome with some illness. Again she spoke, her voice fervent and stumbling across the words. "I've known him as my angel for years; he's made my voice what it is. I've been to his world, underneath the opera…I've seen him!"

The young nobleman watched her face with worry. She seemed sick, but he didn't know what to do. He had been in the company of young woman, he had dealt with their emotions before, but this was nothing like those times. She seemed almost like she was in trance.

"How can I ever forget that face, which was so cruelly deformed, it was hardly a face… He covers it by a mask, hides it from the world." A choked sob escaped her. "He scares me so…" The tears came next.

She trembled like a wild animal in a trap, but when Raoul wanted to put her arms around her, she released herself from him and walked to the edge of the roof, her face illuminated by the lights beneath her. She seemed so breathtaking as she stood there, straight and elegant towards the illumination of the city and the starry sky.

Her voice had changed from the horrified fervent voice, and grew soft as she spoke next.

"But his voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound, and in his night there was music in my mind…and through music, my soul began to soar…" She shivered before continuing. "And I heard as I've never heard before…"

Raoul felt the jealousy rise; she spoke so passionately about him that it wrenched the dagger of uncertainty in his heart. "He deceived you with his lies," he said, but he was not sure she registered what he said.

Her voice grew thoughtful and filled with pity. "Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world…those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore…"

"Christine," he said softly, and it was as if she heard an echo of Raoul's voice, but it was someone else's voice.

"_Christine…"_

The next second Raoul spoke again, and his question knocked the faint voice out of her head. It was a question she had tried to answer herself, but she never had an answer.

"Do you love him?" Raoul asked; he had to know.

Christine felt the same hopeless confusion settle over her. "I don't know Raoul; I don't know what I feel for him. He is a murderer, and he scares me more than anyone else…and yet I always yearn to hear his voice. It's like a fever in my body, and there is no cure." She covered her face with her hands. "By God, what shall I do?"

Raoul's heart melted at the sound of her voice and the sight of her sweet face. He could not bear to see his beloved Christine in this kind of pain. Love and the need to protect her welled up within him him and blocked out any and all doubts he may have had. "Christine, he obviously has some kind of hold over you." He reached down and dried her cheek with his thumb. "I told you in the park, and I tell you again now, I'll help you. I swear it."

She looked up at his face. It was smooth and youthful, his bright blue eyes full of worry and love. And she realised that amidst the raging storm surrounding her, there was something to hold on to: Raoul's love, stable and strong. There was no tortured sadness in his gaze, no lines of pain drawn in his face. His eyes did not draw her in and entrance her like Erik's did, but he loved her, and he was safe and tender. He would never scare her like Erik did. As Raoul stroked her cheek, she reached up to grasp his hand and lean into his caress.

He pulled her into his arms and enjoyed the feeling of her curly head snuggled into his chest, her curls tickling his chin.

"I love you, Christine," he said, fearing to be rejected even though she had openly welcomed his caress.

"I know," she replied calmly, smoothing the cloth of his cravat.

"All I ask for is your love in return," he whispered hopefully. He wanted so desperately for her to love him. He felt her soft hand on his face, and she turned his cheek so that she could look him in the eyes.

"You do have my love, Raoul." Her eyes were tranquil and serious as she looked at him.

"I'll keep you safe and love you, Christine, I swear it…I'll protect you from his darkness," Raoul whispered fiercely.

A hesitant smile spread on her face, making her eyes sparkle. That smile became his undoing. He pressed his lips to hers, gentle at first, before growing more passionate as her lips parted beneath his, allowing his tongue to taste her mouth. They remained locked in each others arms, and he held her tight, their lips and tongues meeting anxiously and yet filled with a soft gentility that was the nature of their love. Christine enjoyed his kisses and the feeling of his strong arms around her…she had never in her life felt safer as she did when she kissed him. It felt so _right;_ there was no other word for it. They parted for a few seconds, her eyes was bright with the happiness she felt. They both smiled shyly, before their lips returned to each other.

"Please tell me again," Raoul whispered when they parted. He could hardly believe she had told him she loved him and that he had kissed her. This angel loved him.

She released something between a laugh and a sob. "I love you, Raoul…I love you."

His eyes, hand, and voice contained the same tenderness, as he cupped her chin, looking into her eyes and whispering "I love you so much," as their lips met in a kiss. She broke free and smiled to him.

"We must go…the others will wonder where I am," she said, and she took his hand, dragging him with her towards the door.

Raoul felt like screaming at the top of his lungs with happiness, but instead he scooped her up and spun around with her, ignoring her laughing protests, and pressed his lips to hers in an eager kiss before putting her down again. With fingers intertwined, they left the roof.

**OOOOOO**

The pain Erik felt in his heart when Christine declared her love to the Vicomte and kissed him with such vehemence was almost unbearable. The sight of the happiness on her face was like a knife being plunged into his heart, he had to brace himself against the statue of Apollo for support.

He had gone to the rooftop after the killing of Joseph Buquet; he cursed himself for his actions. It had been foolish…of course the drunk had followed him, but Buquet did not possess half the brains to find his hiding place. The murder had simply been a relief of his frustrations. It had been highly satisfying to see the fear on the man's face as he toyed with him in the rafters, but nonetheless it had been foolish, and even worse, it had thrown Christine into the arms of the Vicomte.

His prayers to a God he had almost forgotten had been ignored, so he had punished him instead. He had not been deemed worthy of Christine's love. Her choked voice whispering those words… "_he scares me so"… _had hurt him to the core. He had never meant to frighten her, but he had, and the regret burned in him, a constant painful regret, of the fact he had made her fear him.

Erik collapsed on the roof, pain, hatred, grief and confusion coursing through his veins like poison. He was suffocating in it…he could hardly breathe, and the tears spilled as he choked on each sob that convulsed through his body.

"Why, Christine?" he whispered brokenly. "I've given you everything, my wretched heart and soul, my music, your voice, and you repay me like _this!"_ He let out a animalistic roar of pain. "You spit on my love like this, Christine, spit on the gifts I've given you, let go of your music to be the mother of his children, to wither in the salons of nobles!"

From the darkest corners of his mind, an overpowering anger and hatred started to well up inside of him. He welcomed it, as bitter as it was; it did not hurt half much as the pain of betrayal. He gripped the statue and dragged himself up to the statue's shoulder. He roared at the top of his lungs towards the sky

"Have you not punished me enough?" He didn't expect an answer, but it relieved a bit of the pain within him to rage against something…anything… "Is it some kind of perverted game you play, God? Giving me the face of demon, denying me the love of others, and when I finally find someone, you rip them away from me?" He had to take a few deep breaths. "I've always believed in you, you bastard, because someone so cruel simply must exist. I HATE YOU!" he screamed, his body shaking with tears of fury and grief. "But I will not play your game, God…you made the world turn from me; therefore, I will not obey their rules."

Vengeance would be his, Christine would be his, and NO ONE was to stop him. The cold and unmerciful God, the deity they called the God of Love and Forgiveness, would be his witness. She would be his!


	18. Masking of emotions

**A/N: **Okay I've finally settled Erik's timeline, mostly based on Kay's novel. I've also settled the age, names, titles and so on with the other characters, so this will follow now.

**Erik's timeline:** It follows Kay, with a few alterations. Erik spends 9 years at his mother, before he runs away and get caught by the gypsies. He's with them for about 4 years, until he kills his master after the man tried to rape poor Erik. After fleeing to Rome he stays there for 1.5 year, under the care of the mason Giovanni. Next there is 7 years where he drifts around the world learning all sorts handy things. Nadir Khan offers him job at the Persian court, sorcerer for the Khanum. He stays in Persia for 5 years, until the Shah finally realises what kind of threatening snake he has nurtured at his bosom so to speak. After a short time in Europe, he goes underground and lives in the cellars of the opera for 11 years, which leads us to where the story is now.

**All names, titles and age of the characters:**

Monsieur Erik Destler: 38

Mademoiselle Christine Freya Daae: 18

Mademoiselle Marguerite Katérine Giry: 19 (I'm aware Meg's name has switched from Megeara to Marguerite, but now it is settled, her name is Marguerite)

Vicomte Raoul Auguste Edward De Chagny: 21

Comte Philippe Lucien George De Chagny: 42

Madame Antoinette Giry: 45

Signora Carlotta Guidicelli: 42

Signor Ubaldo Piangi: 44

Mademoiselle Sophia Sorelli: 23

Monsieur Gilles Andre: 57

Monsieur Richard Firman: 56

**Twinkle22: **Good you think so, I am striving to let it become better and better.

**Pertie**: It's good you'll keep on reading, and keep on reviewing

**EriksIngenue: **Hahaha well it's the point, the choice has to be difficult, she has to be torn between them

**Lynn: **My dear faithful reviewer, I want them to talk as well, and I'm trying to incorporate it in my story, but I'm sure I'll succeed.

**Mina: **I can't stand fluffy phantoms either, so I do my best to make him dark and sensual, filled with so much pain, passion and rage as possible. I will not tell you what the ending will be like, that would ruin the whole thing, I gotta keep my readers reading you know. She is torn between them both, and I'm trying to make the conflict within her understadable, ven to fanatic E/C shippers.. So read on Lizzie... Whoops wait a minute, there went Pride and Prejudice in me there.

A big thank you to my editor BondagedVampiresa for her surgestions for improvements.

Bonus info I've edited chapter 1, and added a bit to chapter 13, confusion and dawning realisations, which I personally think makes it more effective, it's only a bit, but you can judge for yourself.

There are two times sex in this chapter, explicitness to come my darlings. So watch out. Phew long author note, here's the chapter

* * *

Chapter 17

Masking of emotions

Raoul looked at Christine, only to find a thin portion of her face was illuminated, as she had pulled up her cloak immediately after they left the restaurant. Also, he was fairly sure that she had been crying on their way from _"l'Ambroise,"_ but he was not sure… In fact, her entire aura screamed, **keep away**. By now her face was so expressionless that she might as well been carved out of stone. He rubbed his cheek of frustration. The night had not exactly gone as planned. She had looked perfectly stunning in the aquamarine coloured gown he had bought for her; she had been charming, sweet, and ever so pleasant, and she had been anticipating this evening so much…at least until she had meet them. They had been frosty towards her from the start. He was so ashamed, for she must had been horribly disappointed, but how was he supposed to know they would act like that?

The carriage halted, and Raoul looked out at the pompous white building. With a heavy sigh he hopped out of the carriage elegantly and held out his arm to Christine. She took his hand and climbed out of the _buggy _with the beautiful grace he admired so much. Her cheeks were marked with the trace of dried tears, and his heart wrenched at the sight of it…she had been crying. She let go of his hand and said a hasty goodbye. He could not let her go like this; his hand shot out and took a hold of her wrist.

"Christine, I'm so sorry, I didn't know they would act like that," he whispered fiercely.

Her rosebud lips pulled into a sad smile. "It's not your fault, Raoul."

His arms encircled her waist. "I should have known," he said, shaking his blonde head.

"You mustn't blame yourself," she whispered back. She was still upset, but she did not try to avoid his lips as he took her into a passionate kiss.

"Goodnight, Christine… Will I see you tomorrow?" His eyes were hopeful, she patted his cheek.

"I can't, Meg has claimed my day." She kissed him quickly on the cheek before hurrying up the stairs to the staff entrance, of the opera.

Almost three months had past since the opening of Il Muto. Carlotta avoided the public's attention ever since her little "accident" onstage, and Christine had replaced her with roaring success. She performed the role of the countess with her breathtaking voice and the perfect amount of refined charm and irony, ideal traitsfor the cynical and amorous countess. She and Piangi had sent the audience into one laughing fit after another. The public adored her, and Christine seemed to be as happy as any girl in her position would: an opera singer with no connections, engaged to one of the most eligible bachelors in the whole of Paris… She should have been overjoyed, but underneath the surface, emotions raged.

Christine made her way through the corridors to her room. She was content that the managers had given her, her own room, for she was not sure she could bear the looks of the others this very night. As she reached the room, she could not help but beaming at the gold letters on her door, which announced _Christine Daae – lead soprano. _She retrieved her key and locked herself inside.

Inside she released herself from the cloak and looked around the room. It was about the same size as Carlotta's, and beautifully furnished. Bouquets of flowers surrounded her, praising her for her performances.

She began to free herself from all the material of her gown, allowing her fingers slid across the complicated embroideries. Raoul had been so proud of her that night…he said she had never looked more beautiful… And then his horrible friends spoiled everything. Her hand found her brush and she started to work through her curls fiercely.

"_Well, Christine, we all read of you disappearance in the newspaper… How did it happen?" _the deep sensual voice of Salome de Castelle cut into her mind. The dark-haired beauty had been particular vicious towards her.

Perfume and cosmetic bottles rattled as she let herself fall over the boudoir, resting her forehead on her arms.

"It was all so simple once," she muttered. How had it all gotten so much out of hand?

**OOOOOO**

Christine was pouring up the golden Ceylon tea into cups as Meg threw herself down on the bed and yawned.

"What is it, Meg? You look exhausted" Christine said, looking at the blonde who was discarding her shoes and stockings.

"I took dinner with Olivier and then we were out meeting some of his more… jolly friends in Montmartre. My feet are aching" the girl said as she started to massage her feet.

Christine chuckled. "Then I have no pity for you whatsoever… You brought it on yourself when you joined the bohemians' parties."

Meg grimaced, which only made Christine laugh more.

"How will I ever get to perform tonight?" She made a disgusted face. "I'm beginning to be like Sorelli all ready."

"Well, you take over Sorelli's place every time she has strained her ankles and God knows what, so you shouldn't complain," Christine said and handed Meg an almond croissant, which the blonde took eagerly.

"I really shouldn't eat these," she complained. "I'll get to heavy to be a ballerina, and then I'll only be able to waddle around like a cow in a tutu." She took a bite of the crisp pastry.

Christine snorted with laughter at the image it created in her mind. It was Meg's vivacious nature, humour and kind friendship that had kept her from sinking into her gloomy thoughts the last months.

"Oh, Meg, you don't know how much you mean to me," she said softly

"Of course I do," Meg said and took another bite with a broad grin.

Christine shook her head and took a sip of her tea. The dancer stretched lazily and laid down on the bed.

"How was your dinner with Raoul and his friends yesterday?" Meg suddenly asked interestedly.

Christine groaned. "Absolutely dismal, a complete failure." She shook her head.

"What on earth happened?" Meg asked, sitting up and staring at her friend worriedly.

"Well let's just say there were prime examples of the snobbish aristocracy," Christine said, looking out of the window and watching the snow fall.

"Do you want to tell me?" Christine felt Meg's dainty hand on her shoulder; she removed her hand and sat down on the floor in front of Christine.

"There were four people… Salome de Castelle, Edward of Marlborough, Francoise, and Paulo de Lioncourt. Francoise was the only one who was nice to me, but she seemed to be too afraid of her husband to draw any attention to herself." Christine sighed deeply. "Paulo and Salome were the most vicious towards me."

Meg squeezed her hand. "It's well-known that Salome de Castelle wants to marry Raoul… That would explain her viciousness."

"Yes, I guess it would," Christine said. "It was all so simple once…"

"Yes, it was," Meg said with a smile. "But look what you have now Christine… a fiancée who loves you of all his heart and doesn't care about your family connections."

"Yes, and I love him, but he is equipped with family and friends who don't wish to see me joining their ranks," Christine said softly. She rose and walked to the window, leaning against the window frame. With her face bathed in the grey light falling through the glass, she looked like the very impersonation of melancholy. Thoughtfully she added, "And I will never get to sing onstage again"

Meg stayed on the floor and looked at Christine. "Christine, are you having second thoughts about marrying Raoul? Because nothing could pain me more than to see you in an unhappy marriage."

"No, Meg, I wish to marry him." She fidgeted with the sparkling ring on her finger. "But I'm afraid he'll be unhappy if we marry," she whispered.

"He won't, Christine…he loves you more than anything else; it's clear every time he looks at you" Meg said reassuringly.

Christine smiled at Meg and said, "Yes, he loves me, and I love him, what more can we ask?"

"Exactly, now do something useful and come give my poor feet a massage," Meg said and returned to the bed, wiggling her toes in Christine's direction.

Christine laughed; Meg's bubbly nature had once again cleared out her gloomy and melancholic mood. She sat down on the bed beside Meg and took the blonde's elegant feet between her hands, and she started to loosen the tense muscle knots. She was humming a soft song as Meg writhed under her unmerciful hands. Erik had sung it to her once long ago, she remembered…oh Erik. Poor Erik, he seemed to have vanished without a trace, and that was really what worried her. She knew him, and she did not think he would give her up without a fight. Sooner or later it would come to a confrontation, she was certain of that, and she dreaded that more than anything else.

Meg noticed that Christine's eyes had gone glassy, and she recognised it as the look Christine had when she was deep in her thoughts. In the past few months, Christine always had that expression when she was deep in her own thoughts. She bit her lip. Christine was her best friend, her adoptive sister, and she needed to know what was going on.

"Christine?" she asked carefully.

"Yes, Meg, what is it?" Her smile faded into a frown when she saw the look on Meg's face.

Meg forced her nerves under control; she was nervous about Christine's reaction.

"What happened the night of Hannibal's gala?"

Christine hesitated, but then she sighed, "I guess you have as much right to know as Raoul has, maybe even more so." She put Meg's foot down and stared into the air for so long that Meg started to shift restlessly. Finally she spoke.

"Do you remember the stories I used to tell you about the Angel of Music?"

Meg frowned with surprise. What did old childhood stories have to do with this? "Yes Christine, of course I do."

"I was taught by him." She put up her hand to Meg's lips as the blonde opened her mouth to speak. "Maybe not in the literal sense, but when I was in the chapel, I heard a voice so beautiful that it couldn't possibly belong to a mortal creature."

"And he is the tutor you spoke of," Meg said, more bewildered by her friend than she had ever been before.

"Yes Meg, I first heard him in the chapel when I was thirteen, and ever since then, he taught me. I owe him the voice I have today. Then at the night after the premiere of Hannibal, he showed himself to me… he was mortal, and he had been living in the opera all along."

"What!" Meg's countenance grew disgusted. "Who is he? We'll talk to maman about it, and she'll have him put to the street."

Christine threw her head back and laughed. Meg watched her with an appalled expression on her face. "I'm sorry Meg, but I don't think anyone will dare to put him out on the streets, not even Antoinette. Not that they would be able to find him, anyway."

Meg's face was comical to watch, and Christine half laughed and half cried, "Meg it's the Phantom who has been teaching me."

Meg's jaw dropped and she stared at Christine in disbelief. "The Phantom?" she said dumbly.

"Yes, the Phantom," Christine replied calmly, waiting for the fact to sink in.

"The Phantom!" she squealed. "You've been with the Phantom, you've seen him… Oh my goodness!" She was about to continue, but one look from Christine's eyes stopped her.

"Yes, I've seen him, and I can tell you that the stories of him are grossly exaggerated. Meg, he has the voice of an angel…it's transfixing, and there's no defence against the strange magic it weaves. If you could hear him, Meg..." her voice died out with a blissful sigh. It was heavy with pain as she continued. "I'm so confused… I love Raoul, but I long to hear Erik sing; his world is beyond what people can imagine. It's filled with art, music, song, knowledge, but he has seen so much pain, and he frightens me so…and yet I long for him."

"Christine," Meg began carefully "Is he not the one who murdered Buquet? Was he not responsible for the bruises on your arms?" Christine nodded gravely "Then why do you long for him, Christine?"

"I know, how can I long for him? Raoul is a good man and I love him, but when I'm with Erik…" her voice faded.

"Then what? Christine, please, make me understand," Meg said desperately and cupped Christine's face in her fingers, turning her head so Christine's eyes met her own.

"Everything is just _more,"_ the young diva cried out. "When we sing together, it's like I can get a glimpse into heaven, and when he sings to me, all I want to do is to stay in his arms forever. It scares me Meg, this burning in me that I cannot put out." She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from crying.

"Have you slept with him, Christine?" Meg's voice was worried and careful.

Christine looked at Meg gravely, and then shook her head. "No, but I wanted to," she whispered, the timbre of her voice almost inaudible. "But I didn't have the courage to reach out for him, and he would never force himself on me. No matter how foul a temper he has, or how much he scares me, he would never harm me."

Meg was shocked… No, more than that, she was dumbfounded. Christine openly admitted that she would have slept with this man had she had the courage. Her friend had always been a dreamy character, but this? This complete… What should she even call it? This _phantom_ had a hold over Christine's mind that was beyond her comprehension.

Meg's gaze was searching, but she saw nothing besides despair in her friend's face. "Do you love him, Christine?"

Christine laughed bitterly and shook her curled head. "Raoul asked me the same question, but I don't know, Meg, I really don't know. I understand the feelings that I have for Raoul, but what I feel for Erik fills me with nothing but dread, longing, and confusion… Is that love?"

She turned her head towards Meg, who looked at her with pity. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before she shook her head and sighed.

"I don't know, Christine. I wish I knew so I could ease your pain, but I don't."

**OOOOOO**

The room was pitch black…she could not even see her own hand in the darkness that surrounded her, but she was filled with a strange sense of tranquillity. There was no fear in her when she heard someone move up behind her. She heard a match being lit and a few moments later, she saw the soft flicker of a single candle. She didn't even fret when a pair of strong arms closed around her; she merely leaned into the broad expanse of the male chest, sighing contently when she felt the strong warmth of it. A long slender hand curled around her own and brought it to his face. She did not flinch when her fingers encountered smooth leather.

"Christine." As he spoke her name, his voice slid from his lips like heated silk, making chills run down her spine.

"Erik," she breathed.

Quickly he turned her in his arms and crushed his lips down upon hers. She gasped with surprise, and Erik immediately took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into her mouth. Christine moaned and gripped his shoulders, returning his kiss. The desire that washed over her made her entire body tingle, and she clung to him, desperate for support. He fed the fire in her body with his own as their tongues met.

They parted, and his strong warm hands slid across her back, only a thin nightgown to shield her from his touch. The heat of his hands made her tremble. Their lips met again, tongues in a desperate duel, and Christine sagged against Erik, the place between her legs throbbing with longing for him. His long fingers curled around her rear end and pressed her slight body towards the very obvious sign of his arousal. She gasped, and their kiss halted. Her eyes sought out his, and they were just as filled with heated desire as her own. The dances of their tongues slowed into a soft rhythm, as she tangled her fingers in his hair. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

The next moment her naked back hit the rich red velvet of the swan bed, and Erik rained caresses across her skin. Everything blurred before her eyes as she could do nothing but feel as her mind and body were bombarded with need. She could not stop the flood of desire that swallowed them both up.

"Angel," he murmured, his voice sending her body into acute yearning to having him within her.

Then he was inside of her, their hips clashing as she met his every harsh thrust. He pinned her wrist over her head and thrust harder and harder… she was helpless to his merciless assaults. His mouth worked over one nipple, making her clench around him. The fire in his eyes burned her skin; she threw her head back, her moaning rising in intensity.

"Mine," he growled against her delicate skin. "Mine!"

Christine merely groaned, and wrenched her wrist free of his grasp, throwing her arms around his strong back and locking her legs tightly around his waist.

"Say you're mine," Erik rasped, his voice hoarse with desire. Christine sought out his lips, and he returned her kiss violently. Their tongues surged forward and curled around each other. He tore himself away and stilled completely inside of her. She almost sobbed, she was so desperate for release.

"Say it," his voice was a growl, and she shivered.

"Yes, I'm yours, Erik, no one else's," she almost screamed, and with a triumphant groan, he slammed into her again. His thrusts grew animalistic, and he latched his lips onto the pale skin of her neck. Christine moaned breathlessly and matched his raw desire with her own. Her climax was so close, she could taste it.

Christine surged upwards from her bed with an explosive gasp as if she had been drowning but had resurfaced again. Her entire body was shaking, and it was drenched in sweat, the unfulfilled lust burning between her thighs with ferocity she had never felt before. Her lungs felt like they were going to explode from the force of her breathing. The girl looked around her wildly only to find she was in her own bed, in her new room. She fell back onto her pillows, trying to calm her wildly beating heart. The burning in her loins was almost unbearable, and shamefully Christine placed her hand over her swollen pubic lips. She only needed to think of how he had felt inside of her in her dream before the blood pounded through her once more.

It merely took a few strokes to the pulsating bud before the heat coiled in her belly, exploded, and she bit her lip from screaming out in pleasure. She was shaking spasmodically as the ecstasy ripped through her body, and she collapsed on the bed, feeling utterly satisfied. Her nightgown was clinging to her sweat-bathed skin. As her breathing slowed, she crawled out of the bed and grimaced, the place between her legs aching from her release. She bathed her face in water from the washstand, desperate to cool her heated skin.

For the past three months after Il Muto's gala, ever since he had played that sinful music to her, he had haunted her dreams almost every night, but it had never been as vivid as the dream she had just had.

Christine looked at herself in the mirror. She half expected to find marks of Erik's lips and teeth on her throat, but the delicate skin was as pale and flawless as ever. Her cheeks were flushed from her dream, the moonlight reflecting in the diamond ring on her finger. The engagement ring Raoul had given her this very evening… She fingered the expertly cut diamond surrounded by sapphires, and an immense feeling of guilt crashed down on her. Raoul, who was probably the best man in Paris, had proposed to her, and she thanked him by dreaming of another man. She was not supposed to dream of Erik; she was engaged to Raoul, and if she had to dream of anyone, it ought to be him. But her mind did not agree.

"Oh Raoul, I may not betray you with my body, but I do in my mind," she said, frustrated.

Then she looked at the costume Raoul had bought her for the upcoming masquerade. Persephone, goddess of spring… Christine grimaced again. It had been Meg's suggestion, after she had read about Greek myths. Raoul had immediately approved of the idea, but the irony of Christine's costume had struck her when she read of Persephone's fate: Seduced into the dark shadow world of Hades, and after many struggles, was fated to live both in darkness and in light…as was her own fate… She knew that even if she did marry Raoul, there would still be Erik's darkness inside her mind. Hidden desires of which the world must never know.

Resigning, she walked to the window and pushed open the shutters. The full moon illuminated the entire Rue Scribe. It was a beautiful sight to be seen, the perfect full moon casting light over the snow covered rooftops, making the snow shine like diamonds. Her sweat got cold in the frosty December air; she picked up her thick wool shawl and sat down on the windowsill. The street was almost empty, as only a few people were up as early as this. The avenue was tranquil. A few drunks broke the silence as they reeled down the Rue, singing in voices slurred by a night's drinking. She giggled as she saw one double over, pulling the other two with him, and they started yelling at each other, a shoutingthat quickly turned into cheerful laughter. She looked up at the moon again; it was perfect in its creamy silver. It almost illuminated as much as the midnight sun back in her homeland.

Suddenly an old memory stole its way into her mind. She had not been able to sleep, and she had heard her father play violin. She snuck out to the veranda, making sure her mother wouldn't find out and immediately send her into bed again. The midnight sun cast a strange golden light over the deep forests, making the trees into mere dark silhouettes against the odd light of the sun.

Her father stopped playing when he noticed her standing in the doorway. He stopped playing.

"Can't sleep, little forest troll?" he said with a smile. She shook her head mutely. "Come on up here, then," Gustave Daae said, and he patted the empty spot on the bench beside him.

Christine climbed to the bench and sat down; she snuck into her father's chest looking over at the forest and the sea as it gleamed in the sun.

"Why does the sun shine at night, papa?" she asked, following the patterns of animals on his dressing gown.

"Because he is searching for the moon," he replied calmly.

"Why does the sun look for the moon?" she murmured, her voice filled with curiosity.

"Because he loves her… They were separated by the skies and the earth when they were first created. The sky and earth didn't want them to marry, so they separated the sun and moon. And now they are forever fated to be separated, but in the summer up here, the sun stays up so he and the moon can be together with all their children, the stars."

Christine gaped. "Do they really have so many children?" she breathed disbelievingly.

Gustave chuckled. "Certainly, they have been lovers for millions of years."

"Can you play that story to me?" Christine's voice was hopeful, and she looked at him with wide pleading eyes.

"Of course, forest troll." He smiled and picked up his violin. The tune was melancholic, and Christine looked over the forest as the tunemelodyheaved up.

Christine wiped the tears from her eyes. She hardly remembered her time in Sweden, for she had been very young when they left for France. She could barely recall an image of her mother…a mass of curls like her own, a deep soft voice, and a sweet smile. Her father, on the other hand, came to her mind with pained clarity. It was soon time for her annual visit at the graveyard at Perros where her father lay buried. She hid her head in her hands before sighing and crawling down from the windowsill.

**OOOOOO**

Philippe stepped out of the carriage and cursed when the cold December rain started to pour down over him. After two and a half months spend in Spain on business he had come home to the horrible weather in Paris.

"Damn it," he muttered angrily and hurried up the stair of the opera house.

Of course he had slept with a few whores in Spain, but none the less he had missed the well known feeling of Sophia's soft skin and supple body. They had been lovers for a few years; he did not put any claim to her, for she was a desirable woman and had many admirers. But he knew she appreciated him more than the others, because she usually rejected them after few weeks, occasionally months, whereas she always welcomed him back in her bed.

As he had predicted, Sophia greeted him with a kiss and relieved him of his wet cape. She cooed gently and helped him sit down, pouring him a whiskey. She positioned herself behind him, massaging his shoulders.

"Have you missed me, Sophia?" he asked with a chuckle.

"You know I have, Philippe," she answered softly, and leaned down to close her arms around him. She slid down in his lap and smoothly straddled him, taking his half finished whiskey and put it on the table beside her.

"I'm glad you have, my beauty," he said with a smile, and he started to pull out the pins of her dark hair, letting it cascade down her back.

Sophia smiled as he let his fingers run through her hair, and she leaned down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. He was pinned between the chair and her warm body, eagerly he leaned forward to deepen the kiss more, but Sophia withdrew with a girlish giggle. Philippe was not in the mood for games; with an angry growl, he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her to him. he relished the feeling of their tongues playing with each others. Sophia whimpered, and Philippe took his chance, he grabbed her softly rounded behind and ground her to him.

"I want you now, Sophia," he said with a heated whisper.

"Then take me," came her reply, her voice raspy with desire.

He lifted her up, and she circled his waist with strong agile legs. Clothes were quickly discarded as they reached her bedroom, and he threw her down on the bed. His lips took hers before he started to kiss way down her throat to her breast. His lips worked over her nipple, and she held his head in place, gasping with pleasure. His hand wandered down to the place between her legs, which he found gloriously wet and throbbing for him. She arched her hips eagerly to meet his touch.

"You need me?" His question was breathy with lust.

"Yes Philippe, God I need you," she said, and ground towards his hand. A few seconds later he had her writhing beneath him as she came. She was breathtaking in the throes of passion he sent her into.

"Then take me," he said, and smoothly flipped them over, so she was straddling his lap.

For a few seconds Sophia merely took in Philippe's form, and he felt a surge of pride at her appreciating gaze. The most men of his age and class had a tendency to gain weight and lose the shape of their youth. Philippe's hardly showed any sign of his age.

Her hands slid up his chest, flexing his nipples before she impaled herself on his erection. They both groaned deeply, and Sophia stilled, letting him regain control before she started a gyrating of her hips towards his pelvis. Philippe raised his hands to her hips, and helped her ride him. Their coupling was fast and hard. The look of her head thrown back, the dark curls surrounding her, her breasts bouncing up and down as she ground herself towards him, was tantalizing. A few desperate thrusts later she collapsed on top of him, and he heard his gasping harsh breaths in his ear.

"Great God," she panted, and Philippe barely had air for the chuckle he released.

She rolled off him and snuggled closely into him. Philippe smiled to her and lazily stroked the smooth curve of her back.

"I'm glad you're back, Philippe," she said and smiled up at him. He smiled back, and climbed out of the bed.

"I'm glad to be back, my dear," he said, and walked to where she had placed his whiskey. He drowned down the last and fished out a cigar from his waistcoat. He lit it and sat down on the chair, looking at Sophia who watched him with a pleased smile on her lips.

As Philippe watched Sophia sit among the tangled sheets it was not the first time he cursed that she should be from such poor birth and, to make matters worse a ballerina. Had she not been, he would probably have asked her to marry him. After two years as her lover, he had maybe not experienced the same love for her as his Louisa, but he had experienced the same feeling of understanding and respect as he had shown towards his past wife.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked with a shy smile.

Philippe merely smiled at her and took a drag on his cigar. "Well, my sweet, what has happened in Paris while I've been gone?"

"It's been horribly dull here; there has happened nothing more that the Baron Von Alson had got his kitchen maid pregnant. It seems that his wife is quite possessive, because she got the maid sent away very quickly, and it's said that the fight could be heard over the entire street."

Sophia smirked and rolled over so she was laying at her abdomen and supported her face in her hands, her gaze wandering as she searched for her next statement.

"And then you brother has asked Christine Daae to marry him, but you of course already knew that, course"

She realised that Raoul had not told his brother that he was going to marry Christine, as she watched the various emotions pass over her lovers face; it was almost amusing to observe.

"I take that as a sign that you brother had not told you," Sophia said, barely able to suppress laughter. If Raoul adored Christine just half as much as he seemed to, Philippe would certainly have a hard time preventing the marriage.

"You're damn right he didn't tell me," Philippe roared and downed the last bit of liquor, starting to put on his clothes.

"Don't do something stupid, Philippe," Sophia said very calmly.

"I'm going to prevent my brother from doing something stupid… Great God, what is he thinking, to marry a simple opera singer into the family? I swear…" he stopped and looked at Sophia.

She merely smiled, and suddenly as she sat there with her slender arms thrown around her legs and her feet peaking out from beneath the covers, she seemed so fragile and breathtaking, the silky black hair flowing down her shoulders. He could have bit of his own tongue for what he had said.

"Don't worry, I know that you will never marry me, Philippe." She rolled onto her back, and the sight that greeted him made him want to take her hard and fast again as they had done just moments before.

"Soon I'll find myself an indecently rich and handsome youth and marry him, and then I'll not want to see you again, my dear Comte." Her tone was teasing, but he thought he could see a flicker of sadness in her dark eyes.

He grinned back and tried to tie his cravat. She giggled at his efforts and crawled out of the bed, not bothering to cover herself, and he once again admired her lithe dancer body. With nimble fingers she quickly tied his cravat and kissed him softly on the lips. He reached down and squeezed her backside, which earned him an outraged squeal.

"I'm insane to leave a woman like you naked, when I should throw you down on the bed and ravage you again," he murmured.

She wiggled out of his arms and grinned roguishly. "Who says I'd let you take me?"

He growled and reached out for her again, kissing her thoroughly before he let her go and whispered, "I say so." He put on his top hat and walked out of the door with a simple "Mademoiselle Sorelli."

**OOOOOO**

Raoul was tying his cravat in front of the mirror. He was going to spend the afternoon with a few of his friends who he had neglected in the bliss of his love for Christine. From his gaze in the mirror, he saw the old butler enter behind him.

"Yes, Jacques, what is it?" he asked cheerfully, turning towards the old man.

"Your brother wants a word with you, sir," he said in his usually calm and careful voice.

"Tell him I'll be with him shortly," Raoul said and turned to his cravat once again, watching as the stoic butler left the room. Could his brother have found out about his proposal to Christine? He felt ice pool in his belly. A few minutes later he was making his way to his brother's study, not able to shake of the nervousness that was settling in his gut.

He knocked on the door to Philippe's study.

"Come in." Philippe's deep voice was gruff, which was usually not a good sign; Raoul swallowed and opened the door.

Philippe's study was a large, sombre room. It reflected his brother nature completely: dark, secretive, and serious. There wasn't much cheerfulness left in Philippe, not since his beloved wife Louisa died. He could see Philippe's broad silhouette against the window. His hands were resting at the window frame, and his face turned towards the streets of Paris beneath him.

"Philippe, you're home…I didn't expect you for another month." Raoul said.

He heard Philippe's hoarse laughter. "And you planned to lead your little chorus girl to the altar without my knowing, so it was too late to stop you when I came back?"

Raoul gasped for breath, and blush rose in his cheeks. How could his brother know that that had been his exact plan? Philippe waited for an answer, but when none came, he turned and lit the petroleum lamp. He searched his younger brother's face and saw embarrassment in the beautiful features.

"I assume I am correct, as I receive no reply from you," Philippe said, and Raoul saw the muscles in his brothers back tense, something that happened when anger overwhelmed him

Philippe fought to breathe calmly. He wanted to shake Raoul and beat some sense into him, but he knew it was impossible. Raoul was a grown man, and he could not treat him like a child _anymore_

"Have you completely lost your sense, Raoul? What were you thinking?"

"How do you know of this, Philippe?" Raoul finally stuttered out.

"From Sophia Sorelli," the older man said, calm as a rock.

"Sophia Sorelli, and you scold me? You are a goddamned hypocrite, brother!" Raoul yelled back.

"Hypocrite? Me? Oh no, Raoul, the difference between you and I is that I may have Sophia as my mistress, but I do not plan to marry her, and thereby throw our good name away on some wench of an opera singer." His voice was strained with anger.

"I love her, Philippe. You'll never understand, because you have never loved, as I have."

"Don't you lecture me about love, Raoul… You don't know what love is; young men's love is in their eyes, not their hearts, and love is more than silly infatuation with a pretty face and an angelic voice," he said gravely.

"You don't know what I feel for her," Raoul said indignantly.

"No, I don't, but I know what I was like at your age as well, and I tell you, Raoul, if you marry Christine, sooner or later you'll grow to hate her for ruining you status in society, unless you love her as much as you say. Is she worth that?" Philippe said understandingly.

"Yes, she is… We could simply move from Paris," Raoul defended her stubbornly.

"And leave all you've known behind forever?" Philippe asked calmly. He had controlled his rage, but _the urge to make Raoul see sense make it almost impossible. _It was not just their name that was at stake, it was Raoul's happiness as well. Raoul had always been dependent on the fact that other people liked him and appreciated him; his brother would not be able to take the blow to his reputation and society's change of view.

Raoul suddenly felt a surge of horror at the thought of leaving everything behind…his friends, his family, the carefree cheer of Paris…but then he saw Christine's helpless face and remembered the feeling of her lips.

Philippe searched his brothers face. "My advice is, do what you like with her, and then leave her. Marry a woman who will do no damage to you."

Raoul looked at his brother with sudden contempt. "Thank you… I'll remember that, brother" he sneered.

"For goodness sake, Raoul, I only ask that you be reasonable! I know I can't prevent you from marrying the girl, but please think of what you are doing."

"I will and I am," he replied coolly. "But now if you'll excuse me; I have to go to lunch," he said and strode out of the room.

Philippe buried his face in his hands, he couldn't stop Raoul, he was a grown legal man, he controlled his own action, and if he really was determined to marry Christine, there was nothing he could do. His only hope was that Raoul would realise his mistake before it was too late.

**OOOOOO **

Christine and Meg could already hear the faint sound of musicians from the masquerade orchestra, as they were getting ready to the evenings ball.

The masquerade was upon them, and Christine and Meg was getting ready. Meg was putting on a scandalously low cut gown, and Christine eyed it suspiciously.

"What do you think Antoinette will say when she sees that?" Christine said.

"Well, it will be too late by then," Meg said with a smug smile.

Christine laughed she sat down and started drawing her hair back from her face with hair needles decorated with silver flowers.

"That gown is so beautiful, Christine…you'll outshine everyone tonight." Meg said as she helped her with the hair needles.

"Meg, you forget yourself; you are much more beautiful than I am, and you have much more to put on display in your gown than I do," she said with a smirk.

The blonde laughed heartily and put the last pin in the coiffure in which she had put Christine's hair. "Well, you never wanted much attention of that kind, Christine."

Christine smiled sadly to her reflection. "I guess not…I was obligated elsewhere."

Meg looked into the mirror, her eyes meeting Christine's. Her eyes were hardly happy anymore, although she had all the reason to be cheerful. She kneeled down and kissed her cheek softly.

"Don't worry, Christine, you should be happy tonight…it will be fun, and Raoul will be there with you. You have everything any woman of our status could hope for." Patting Christine's cheek, she stood up and started to arrange her blonde hair, which Christine had curled earlier.

"I know, Meg, I have everything a girl like me should have." She shook her head and looked into the mirror, looked into the eyes of her treacherous self, and she mumbled "…Except a soul. I've given it away."

"Sorry, Christine what did you say?" Meg asked and turned her head toward her friend while she kept fastening her curls.

"Oh, nothing important, Meg," she said and took the mask that was lying on the table, twirling it between her fingers.

Meg fastened the last hair needle in her hair and looked at Christine searchingly, but the brunette merely smiled, and with a last glance to Christine's pale face she picked up her own mask.

"Come, let's go, otherwise we'll be late," she said and offered Christine her arm, which she took, and the two girl strode out of the room.

**OOOOOO**

Costumes swirled around Meg and Christine as they entered. For a moment they both had to get used to the bright colours and masks around them, before they giggled happily to each other and strode into the crowd. The music was jolly and they started to dance flowingly through among the other couples. Christine got a glimpse of Carlotta and Piangi standing in a corner casting menacing looks at the two girls. Christine and Meg smiled and waved to the couple, and Carlotta sneered with disgust and drew Piangi with her into another room. Both girls giggled and resumed their dancing. After two waltzes they both retreated to the table where the beverages were, and they sipped at the wine, admiring the beautiful costumes.

"Meg Giry, what is it you're wearing?" Antoinette's voice sounded behind Meg, and the older woman's fan hit her daughter's bare shoulder. "Low cut like a common whore! What are you thinking?"

Antoinette was dressed in something that Christine assumed should make for a Japanese geisha, but the cut was far too sombre and respectable for a one of the Japanese courtesan's.

"Maman, don't be so dull, it is highly fashionable among the bohemians." Meg brushed off Antoinette's harsh comment. "Besides, I'm legal of age and you can't tell me what to wear."

"Care for a dance, fair maiden of the spring? And leave mother and child to their discussion." Christine spun around and looked into the masked face of a young man; she recognised his eyes instantly as Raoul's.

"Raoul!" Her face lit up in a smile. "Of course I will," she exclaimed happily, taking his outstretched hand.

He grinned. "So you did recognise me, Little Lottie?" he asked as he led her to the dance floor.

"Of course I did, Raoul," she said with a smile, and she started to dance with him.

Bach's Waltz in C Major had started up, and they swirled around to the romantic yet melancholic tune of beautiful music. Christine looked over at Meg and Antoinette; they were still discussing heatedly, and Christine sniggered before turning her attention to Raoul, who was smiling broadly at her. The dance ended, and everyone clapped eagerly as the musicians were changed. In the meantime, Raoul used the opportunity to kiss Christine, who returned the kiss softly; it was not respectable to display a heated lover's kiss, but a soft gentle one could be accepted.

"I love you so much, Christine," Raoul said passionately.

"Je t'aime aussi," she whispered, and Raoul led her to the floor as the tune for the Mazurka began. The couples swirled into the more heated dance, and the young couples especially enjoyed the more tempered beat.

Christine was laughing along with Raoul when suddenly over his strong shoulder she got a glimpse of a white half-mask. She gasped as she saw the strange jade and amber eyes flame in her direction. She stopped abruptly in her steps, which earned her annoyed stares from the rest of the dancers. A couple moved, and she saw the man again; it was not Erik, just another guest at the masquerade. But the nervousness settled over her as she realised how easy it would be for Erik to blend in on a night like this.

"Christine, are you unwell?" Raoul asked worriedly.

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Yes, I just became a bit dizzy," she said.

"Should we stop?" Raoul asked tentatively.

"No, no I'm fine," Christine replied quickly. She was quite sure she would be in more danger in the secluded rooms where the tables were than the grand hall, where it swarmed with peoples.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course, I'm completely fine now; there is nothing to worry about," she reassured him, and they resumed the dancing position. Raoul looked searchingly at her before smiling again and leading her into dance once more.

She forced her thoughts away from Erik as well as she could, but she could not shake of the sensation of uneasiness. She had a bad feeling that something was going to happen at this night.

**OOOOOO**

Erik was adjusting his mask, a vengeful glee running through his veins. The managers could certainly not ignore him any longer after this night. Three months and he hadn't as much as given a sound to the fact he was still in the opera house, so the managers had believed themselves secure and arranged this bal masque happily. Not that he had minded; he had been too absorbed in his music to care for anything else. He had poured the guilt, the pain, the betrayal into the notes, and as always, music relieved some of the pain, made the pain more bearable. Tonight he had the finished score in his hand. The work of his life, the music that contained all the hurt and emotion, that had twisted and contaminated his soul…his _Don Juan Triumphant. _They would stage it, and Christine would sing the part of Aminta, the innocent beauty being tangled in the seductive web of Don Juan. The role was written for her.

The costume was exquisite, made from the finest materials. Red was the colour of death, the colour of blood. Yet also the colour of love and passion, it was curiously how death and pain of denied love and betrayal where similar. He fingered his skull-shaped mask again. The Red Death, he smiled coldly. The tailor had been quite curious about the strange costumer that never revealed his face to him. _Humans…they are always so damned curious, _he thought wearily. He smoothed the embroidered collar of the blood red dressing coat. He had always had a love for fine clothes. He chuckled: _Erik, you are far too vain for a man as ugly as you. _

He swung the long train of the cape over his arm and opened the door slightly to peek out. There was no one in the hallway; everyone was in the grand hall. He quickly slipped out of the passage and moved through the shadows. The opening to the staircase was right in front of him. He could not wait to see the fear in the faces of those two fools. They would not be able to ignore him after this; he would make sure the entire opera, the patrons, the guests at this lavish ball would learn who the true owner of this opera house was…and it was not those two idiotic junk dealers dressed as a goat and a rooster down in the hall. He took a deep breath and let the cape fall to the floor, walking to the top of the staircase and looking down on the crowd.

The orchestra halted in a tumble of disharmonious chords, and the dancers stopped, losing track of the dance when the music was no longer playing. The buzz of conversation stopped, and shocked silence settled over the spectators. Everyone's eyes settled on the figure clad in blood red at the top of the staircase.

* * *

review please my darlings... I lvoe constructive critism, but no flames 


	19. The angel and his prophet

**A/N: **Let me start out with one thing I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG TIME SINCE UPDATING. I have had the most horrible writers blockade on this chapter. It has been absolutely horrible to write, and is probably not one of my best, but I'll do better next time I promise. Plus high school has so much more home work that it had before, and there is so much new to get used to.

When passed this excuse, then WOOT I HAVE OVER A 100 REVIEWS!

**Mominator: **Thanks a lot I love to write this story as well, although this chapter was a total pain in the arse to write.

**Mina: **Erik will not simply be able to whisk Christine of to his lair; the ending will not be that easy if you like them in character, and keeping it that way. Thanks for the positive comments. As for sex, I'm not telling you one bit.

**Lynn: **No problem love, it's just wonderful to see that you're still reading and reviewing. And I try to make the portrayals of all of them, as much in character as possible. And as for them talking, I'm trying to see if I can get the talking fitted into the plot line, I wilnae promise anything.

**Pertie: **Well I try to make the chapters long, but Christine a simpleton? I don't think the choice is obvious, if you should be honest, would you jump into the arms of a half crazed killer, when you have a kind and wonderful man whom you love already?

**Twinkle22: **Yes cliff-hangers, I love them, but you must give me that I haven't had very many of them, but I have more of them in store.

**ChristinelovesPhantom: **Welcome as a reader, and yes who will she chose indeed.

**EriksIngenue: **I hope you won't get to crazy, for you should be able to finish this story and get the answer to your questions.

**Eriksangelofvoice: **I'm happy you are getting hooked on my story, that is always good to know. Glad you like it.

Anyways here you have it, my next chapter.

* * *

Chapter 18

The angel and his prophet

Erik's gaze swept across the crowd, the entire hall completely silent, and he watched as other guests swarm to the hall to see what had caused the sudden stillness. The memories suddenly overwhelmed him, and his hand clutched the railing of the huge staircase. He saw the faces of the spectators pressed against the bars of his cage… Laughter and screams, mocking voices hit against his ears, and then the burning sensation of the whip biting into his skin. Slowly the reminiscences faded; this time he was not the helpless prisoner…this time he was the puppeteer of their fear. Through the multitude he glimpsed the managers with looks of disbelief on their faces…Carlotta who for once seemed to shocked to speak and her lapdog of a lover who tried to be manly, but failed as the fear outshone his attempt…Christine, her eyes wide with shock, and yet gleaming with a strange resignation. Beside her was the young vicomte, trepidation visible on his countenance mingled with a stubborn bravery that Erik couldn't help but admire. A cruel smile spread on his face as he started to walk to down the stairs.

Christine stared, paralysed, at Erik. She wasn't really surprised; she knew that sooner or later she would see him again. The air around him was thick with threat and danger, making him seem so enthralling. She was frozen to the spot, her eyes unable to move from his awe-inspiring figure. His entire being seemed to be filled with a music only he could hear, swirling around him; he had never seemed more overpowering than he did in that moment. He was like a cat, she concluded… Anyone could mistake him for a soft and pleasing gentleman, had it not been for the outspoken lethal aura around him, a creature capable of baring his claws without hesitation.

Raoul was filled with a strange kind of fascination when he finally laid his eyes upon the being that had caught Christine so efficiently in his web. He looked at Christine by his side; her face was fearful yet spellbound. Glancing back at the Phantom, he bristled with anger before brushing his fingers along the shell of her ear. He needed to retrieve his weapons, which he had left with his man servant. He was not sure she felt his caress; carefully he slipped away through the crowd, before he began to run.

The hall was quiet as a grave; the only thing that could be heard was Erik's low voice.

"Why so silent good monsieur's?... "Did you think that I had left you for good?" he moved down the staircase with an almost unnatural grace. It didn't seem to fit for a human being.

"Have you missed me good monsieur's?" his smile was an ironic smirk; he knew very well that the managers rather saw him at the bottom of the Seine than on the staircase of their masquerade.

"I have written you an opera." He lifted the leather case into the air. "Here I bring the final score, Don Juan Triumphant" his voice was like a clash of a whip as he threw the portfolio on the the creamy marble steps, the papers tumbled out and scattered across the stair.

Erik was filled with a almost insane glee as he taunted Carlotta. His draw out sword casually snipped of a few of the blue feathers in her hat. He assumed she was supposed to be a Harem girl, but as he had seen such girls first hand, she reminded him more of a clown, the exaggerated makeup and pompous design of the costume did nothing to show the beauty she still possessed.

"Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting round the stage" he hissed and finally gave her head a small smack with the flat side of the sword. He relished in the fact that the entire Parisian high society were watching her humiliation.

Her lapdog suddenly seemed to want to be brave and stepped towards him, though his valour didn't last long as Erik pressed his sword towards the man's extensive belly.

A mocking smile spread on his face "Our Don Juan must lose some weight. It's not healthy for a man of Piangi's age."

The manager's came next; they would now know his wrath was not to be trifled with. Christine. He turned to her very slowly, putting his sword back in its sheath. She was alone now, and for a few seconds he was confused… He had expected the boy to be there to defend her….

"As for our star, Miss Christine Daae…"

Christine bit her lip and winched. It was not like she hadn't known he would approach her, but the scorn in his voice stung. She slowly lifted her eyes, and they met his demanding stare. She gasped. The mocking cruelty in his gaze filled her with fear; those were the eyes of the Phantom, not the entrancing depths of her angel.

"No doubt she'll do her best. It's true her voice is good. She knows, though should she wish got progress she has much still to learn, if pride will let her return to me. Her teacher…

Her teacher…"

There was more he had wanted to say, but his tongue suddenly didn't seem to want to obey him. For the first time his voice, his most dangerous weapon, had failed him…when he looked into Christine's eyes.

Meg was standing with her mother, and had watched the scene with a mixture of horror, fascination and glee. The Phantom…he had been her inspiration for her blood-dripping horror stories she still told to the younger girls, and now she had finally seen him. She felt enthralled at the threatening aura that was around him, and for the first time since Christine had confided in her, she could understand why Christine had been so captivated by him. But as she watched the red clad Phantom turn towards Christine, she felt fear clutch her heart, and she made a movement to go to her friend, but a strong hand clasped around her arm.

Meg looked at the hand as if it was a strange object, then at her mother.

"Stay here, Meg," Antoinette said strictly. "Don't interfere; you can't do anything for her this time."

"He'll hurt her," Meg whispered fiercely. "Let me go"

"He will do not such thing, Meg," Antoinette said, and she turned her gaze towards the scene that unfolded before them on the staircase.

Christine stared at him in shock as she realised he had stopped speaking. His voice…where was his voice? The malice in his eyes had died out; there was only a heartbreaking helplessness. Her heart swelled with the inescapable pity. Even without his voice, she was still drawn in by the look in his eyes. Hardly conscious of her actions, she walked towards him. A small hesitant smile formed on her lips, and she reached out a trembling hand towards him. For a few moments he looked into her eyes, and then he lowered his gaze to her hand.

Anger flared inside of Erik as he saw the sparkling diamond ring on Christine's finger. The jewellery was exquisite, and so painfully obvious an _engagement_ ring, a ring binding her to that boy! He took a hold of her arm and looked hatefully into her eyes. He found his voice again as the pain of her betrayal once again burned within him.

"Your chains are still mine; you belong to me!" he hissed, enveloping her fingers. He saw the horrified expression of the boy when he appeared in the opening of the hall. He let go of Christine's hand and swiftly ran to the top of the stairs. The last thing he saw before he threw the inflammable powder on the marble was the expression in Christine's eyes…and expression of helplessness, the tiny pools brimming with tears.

The fire consumed Erik, and for a moment his face looked like a skull with flames for eyes. Christine knew it was a trick, but nonetheless she stepped back in shock and lost her balance. An arm shot out and supported her; she looked into a pair of green eyes set deep within an olive skinned face. She couldn't help but stare.

A disbelieving and curious mumbling had started, and she bit her lip with embarrassment. Erik had, in public, revealed their connection with each other. She had no doubt that Carlotta would spread rumours about her now. She sagged against the man, feeling dizzy and completely drained.

"Christine…" Raoul's safe and strong arms took over, and she laid her head against his breast.

"Oh Raoul, I'm sorry…" she whispered.

"Shh, ma cherie, it's alright," he said reassuringly. "Thank you, monsieur Khan." Christine looked up just in time to see a dark figure nod and turn away, his long velvet cape fluttering behind him as he walked down the steps "Come, I'll take you to your room," Raoul said, and Christine let him take her to her small, safe room in the depths of the opera.

Raoul helped her inside and got her limp form sat down on the bed, It was then that Christine saw, to her horror, that her engagement ring was no longer on her finger. A memory flashed before her eyes…Erik's face contorted in anger, his fingers curling around her own…

"_Your chains are still mine; you belong to me!"_

She shook violently, the nausea sweeping through her even more powerfully than before. He had taken her ring! A fear settled deep in her gut; she did not know why, but somehow the ringless finger was an alarming omen. Erik was not nearly done with what he had set out to do.

"Would you please leave me, Raoul? I need to be alone," she whispered, trying to pull her hands out of Raoul's grasp.

"Christine, I really don't think…"

"Leave me!" she shrieked. Raoul let go of her hands, and Christine felt even more miserable at the sight of his hurt expression.

Raoul's eyes grew clouded. That creature created a chasm between Christine and himself. She should be in his arms, seeking his comfort, not the comfort of the solitary darkness of her room. He sighed deeply.

"Very well, Christine," he said and walked out of the room.

Christine allowed herself to collapse on the bed and weep bitterly. God what sort of wretched person was she? She was engaged to another man and she walked like slave to her master when Erik appeared before her, why could she not sever his bonds on her? She buried her face in her pillow, overcome with shame. She was thankful that Raoul not had been there to witness it. If she truly loved Raoul, then why did Erik have this hold over her? She hated her own weakness, the little voice in her mind which told her to give in to these sinful desires he had lit within her. She hammered her hands into the bed and wept forcefully until she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Raoul was sitting on the floor, his back supported against the wall as he stared at the door to Christine's room. He could only listen to her choked weeping from a distance as he sat helplessly outside. She didn't want his comfort. He buried his face in his hands, the blonde hair streaming over his fingers like a curtain. When he had fallen in love with Christine, he had not been prepared for the troubles that would inevitably accompany her. He had imagined his only obstacle would be her inferior birth…not a deranged madman who wanted her for himself.

He had to discuss the subject of having Christine moved to the dormitories again. Her new room was more isolated from the rest of the opera house, and the Phantom had easier access to her when she was there, all alone. He sighed. What on earth was he to do?

**OOOOOO**

Erik threw his skull mask on the floor. Drained, he slumped into an armchair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his face before burying his fingers into his wig. He had memorized the expression on Christine's face, the look of pure happiness that had been on her countenance before she saw him… but more importantly, the soft, hesitant smile that had been on her face as she walked towards him.

He reached into his pocket of the jacket that lay sprawled on the floor before him. The ring sparkled in the dying embers in the fireplace. He didn't quite know why he had ripped the ring from her finger…all he knew was he didn't want to see any trace of her connection to the vicomte on her. By God, he loved her, he loved her so desperately. Yet he loathed the way she ripped away all his defences and made him lose control. He hated the vulnerability. His fingers clenched around the ring, and he felt it cut into his skin.

Suddenly he was jerked out of his dazed state when he heard the alarm bell tinkle; someone was on the other side of the lake! Erik got to his feet with an angry growl and snatched his plain half mask from the table beside him, placing it carefully on his face. His fingers closed around the Punjab lasso that lay like a coiled snake on his desk He paddled across the water quickly and soundlessly, moving towards the singular light he could see burning on the other side of the lake, the only source of luminosity in deep darkness of the cellars. When he had anchored the boat several metres away from the light he would make no mistakes, he slowly made his way towards the dark silhouette he could see drawn out by the light. He prepared his lasso, for within a few seconds of insane glee, he thought it was the vicomte… but he reasoned against it. The figure was too small to be the handsome youth. Oh, how he would have enjoyed to strangle the life from that boy's lungs and throw him in the water…and then there would be no one keeping him from Christine.

He was so consumed by his burning thirst for vengeance that he wasn't the least bit prepared to hear the voice that called out for him.

"ERIK!"

Erik almost stumbled when he heard the voice, one he had not heard in over ten years.

"Daroga!" he called disbelievingly as he moved into the circle of the light. The dark figure whirled around, and he looked straight into the shocked face of his old friend. He seemed to be just as shocked as Erik himself, because he held his hand at his breast, as if trying to still a wildly beating heart.

Though his face was not the same as the Nadir he knew before, there was no doubt it was the same man. The olive skin lay tight over the bones in his face, and there was a worn-out look to him. The once thick and dark hair had turned grey, but his eyes retained the same tortured sadness they had held before.

"How long have you been in Paris?" he choked out.

_I ought to kill him,_ Erik thought. _It will be quick and merciful, just a flick of my wrist and he will be dead… he'll not even have the time to realise what has happened._

"Since I was released from the Persian prison," Nadir said, his voice shaking a little with shock.

"You were imprisoned?" Erik asked fiercely "But there was not a shadow of evidence."

Nadir smiled a bitter smile "You know what kind of a woman the Khanum is… She did not care whether there was evidence or not."

_Come on, you coward, do it!_ The voice in Erik's mind screamed.

"I am truly sorry, Daroga…Had I known it, I would not have accepted your offer to help me."

"Yes, I know you wouldn't have… You were ready to die when I entered your chambers that day," he said heavily.

God damn it! He could not do it. Nadir was the only one who really and truly knew who he was. It was Christine's fault! Had she not broken the defensive walls within him, he would have been able to, he was sure of it…had he been filled with the ice cold rage that had sustained him for so long, he would have killed his Persian friend. But now the only happy memories of his days in Persia flashed before his eyes. Every one of them, though they were few, contained Nadir or his son…little fragile Reza who had loved him… He rolled the lasso up again.

He realised that Nadir was watching him, and he glared back. The older man's face had settled into a reprimanding frown.

"Have you lost your mind living down here in the darkness?" he asked. "You cannot be sensible, considering what you did tonight."

"Well, most people wrote me off as insane a long time ago," Erik said dryly.

"Erik, what business could you possibly have with Christine Daae?" he asked seriously.

"That is none of your damn business, Daroga!" he roared, the anger suddenly welling up within him again. Nadir took one step back.

"Yes it is, Erik!" he then said very calmly. "Because, despite the fact I am your friend, I will not turn the blind eye on something like this!"

Erik was fuming with anger "I love her!" he then screamed, the sound echoing against the cave walls, making the desperate declaration of love sound twisted.

For a few seconds Nadir was shocked into silence by this wild outburst. He was not surprised that Erik loved the girl; that had been plain obvious at the masquerade. But he had never seen anyone break through Erik's defences so easily.

"I know you love her, Erik…that is plain to see. But then why are you doing this?"

Erik lifted the one eyebrow that was visible to prying eyes "The reason was standing right beside her."

"If she loves another man, there is nothing you can do about it. It is the poor girl's choice," Nadir reasoned. He knew he was on rickety ground; Erik's temper was more dangerous than even the Khanum's.

"No it isn't, Nadir, because she already made her choice…and that choice was me," he hissed through his teeth.

Nadir was taken aback at this. The Daae girl had not seemed to be like most of the other theatre girls, dancing from one lover's embrace to another. He could not imagine the girl could be so cruel to a man like Erik.

"What do you mean, Erik?"

"She pledged herself to me long ago, she belongs to me," he stated simply.

This time it was Nadir's eyebrows that lifted. "And did the girl know what she was getting into? Or was it merely the seductive whisper of your voice that made her promise herself to you?"

Shame burned in Erik at Nadir's words, because he knew it was the truth he told. She had promised herself to the voice of an angel, but in return she had gotten the mind and face of a monster. He smiled bitterly; Nadir was as always the voice of his conscience. He hardened himself against it.

"She learned who I was later on; there was more than one chance for her to refuse me," he snapped harshly.

"Erik, this is below you…this is not dignified," he almost pleaded.

Erik looked at him challenging "Go on, say it!"

"You won't win her affections like this, Erik," he exploded. "Let her go." He nodded slightly to himself. "Let her go."

"That, Nadir, is the one thing I can't do," Erik replied with a voice so calm that Nadir knew unspeakable emotions were raging beneath the surface of his eerie demeanour.

He shook his head sadly "I made a mistake when I saved you back then. I wanted to make sure the world would know your talent, not be tossed into darkness and madness."

Erik felt another wrench of pain in his heart; Nadir's words cut him to the core, where he had usually been able to shield himself with cold indifference. Without the defences, however, Nadir's words hurt him. His hand clenched around the ring in his pocket, and the rage and pain connected with it gave him strength to deafen himself against the Persian's pleas. He could not let Christine go…he would not.

"I suggest you do not come down here again, Nadir; I'll not be as tolerant the next time," he said and walked away.

"Erik, I can't let you do this," Nadir said slowly into the darkness, and with a resigned sigh he made his way towards the surface again.

**OOOOOO**

The managers did not disobey any of the demands Erik made after the masquerade…they simply didn't dare. Furthermore, it frustrated them that the police could do nothing, as no one had any idea as to where _the Phantom _was hiding. They announced the beginning of preparations for Don Juan Triumphant and could do nothing else but lean back and wait for what would come next.

Christine was moved to the dormitories again shortly after, the same day that rehearsals for Don Juan were started. The opera would awake scandal, she was sure of it. It was a tragic love opus filled with the rush of desire and bloodlust. An erotic spectacle that didn't seem to fit into the proper stage of the opera house, it would have matched the shadier and unrespectable bohemian theatres more suitably.

An icy feeling of terror filled her as she read the ending. Don Juan killed Aminta and her fiancée in a red haze of bloodthirsty jealousy.

"Mademoiselle Daae, are you unwell?" Monsieur Reyer asked as Christine walked forward to the first test of Aminta's premiere aria.

The stage swam before her gaze. "I feel a bit faint, I'm afraid."

"Well then, let's take your aria, Monsieur Piangi… You can rest in the meantime, Mademoiselle, and we'll go over your aria next," Reyer said and waved her away with his baton.

Christine made her way to the wing where the chorus was sitting, walking on shaky legs. Her fragile-looking figure was trembling as she clutched the score between her hands. The role filled her with dread, but the music called to her…it was written to fit her completely; she was his Aminta, and there was no way she could reject it.

Christine didn't mind being amongst her friends in the dormitory again, but the first person she met in the door was Desirée, who had smiled with a look of such knowledge she felt her cheeks burn with shame. Desirée was, according to Meg, the one who had participated the most in the gossip that had been spread across the opera since the Masquerade, and Christine hated the woman more than ever.

She almost felt like a small child again as she peered around the familiar dormitory walls. She had almost forgotten how cosy and comforting it all had been. The nightly chats and ghost tales, which were most of the time led by Meg, who had the touch for the most blood-dripping details. She couldn't help but smile as she sat on her bed and watched Meg frighten the youngest of the girls half to death with the tale of the bloody duchess Elisabeth. All of her troubles were forgotten for a while as she sat in the homely surroundings and heard the small ballet rats release cries of fear. But of cause the comforting bliss would prove to be short lived.

**OOOOOO**

Christine was standing before the mirrors in the dormitory alongside two other women with appointments with their lovers. The gown was made of green velvet so dark it almost seemed black, her thick dark curls piled up on top of her head in a chic modern hairdo, and she smiled happily to her reflection. She walked over to Meg who was waiting at the door. The blonde was taking dinner with Olivier, who had returned from a business travel in Italy. The two young women walked towards the entrance, when Christine suddenly looked down on her hands.

"Oh, I'm so stupid, I forgot my gloves!" she exclaimed.

"I'll tell Raoul you'll be with him in a minute," Meg said and patted Christine's arm.

With a sigh the brunette made her way back to the dormitory. As she reached for the door, she heard the voices of some of the girls.

"It is so unfair!" It was Blanche, a black-haired, guillotine-tongued woman.

"Well, Christine has just been more lucky with her looks than you, Blanche," Desirée's deep, sensual voice mocked.

"How can you be so calm? She has the most handsome and one of the richest men in Paris wrapped around her little finger, and a Phantom who put her to straight to the stage…I mean, everyone knows it was him who made the managers cast her." Blanche's voice had taken on an ugly sneer.

"She must really have been good amongst the sheets if she's been able to turn their heads so efficiently. I wonder if her Phantom lover removes his mask when he takes her…" the hoarse voice of Selina added, and all the three girls laughed.

Christine felt the blood drain from her face in anger. She had known the gossip revolved around her, but she had not suspected this.

Christine breathed deeply and entered the dormitory. Their laughter stopped abruptly, Christine looked at them with a scorching look. Desirée was the only one of them who didn't avoid her glance. The familiar, knowing smirk spread across her lips once more.

"How dare you," Christine hissed.

"Oh Christine, don't be such a child; if I had a tutor who could pull me up from the lower ranks straight to the stage, I would repay him how ever he wanted. None of us care if you had him," Desirée exclaimed.

It took all of Christine's will not to reach out and strike her. "You don't know anything," she hissed and snatched the gloves from her vanity. Not looking back once she stormed out of the room.

Once outside, she leaned against the wall. She didn't even know why the thought of the other girls believing she had slept with both Raoul and Erik was so shocking. When she considered everything, it was probably a very logical conclusion for them to draw. But the thought of everyone believing her to be a whore stung horribly. She tried to get control over her shivering breathing; she didn't want to seem distraught to Raoul. He shouldn't hear it.

He didn't need to know.

**OOOOOO**

They were standing together on the staircase that led to the performers' quarters. Raoul brushed away a soft curl from her face, and Christine smiled timidly as he leaned down to claim her lips. She returned his kiss carefully, and then broke the embrace as two young women came up the staircase. Raoul chuckled and nodded to the women. The youngest blushed and shot Christine an envious gaze while her older companion grinned mischievously before pushing the other girl inside.

"Will you meet me for lunch tomorrow, Christine?" he asked her.

"I can't… I have to go to my father's grave tomorrow. It's his death day."

"Then I'll go with you," Raoul said. "I don't want you to go alone when that lunatic is still on the loose," he said firmly.

"No, Raoul," Christine said and shook her head forcefully. "I must go alone, I always do… it's my day to be alone with my memories of him."

"Christine, if you think I'll let you go outside of town when he could easily follow you, then you must be out of your mind," he said insistently.

"No, Raoul…I will go alone tomorrow."

"God damn it, Christine!" he yelled, gripping her shoulders and shaking her, not roughly, only hard enough to accentuate his point.

Christine's lip parted in astonishment and her eyes widened. He was not violent, but she had not seen this fiercer side of Raoul before. Soon the shock in her eyes was replaced by defiance.

"You are not yet my husband, Raoul. You can't tell me what to do," she replied, raising her chin boldly.

Anger furrowed his brows, but then his face softened. "I am sorry Christine, but I beg you let me come with you…he's still out there."

She looked at him and then sighed. "I'm sorry too" she said and fidgeted with his cravat. "You can come with me." She did not look him in the eyes, afraid he would see the lie in them.

He tugged her on the shoulders, pulled her to him, and kissed her forehead.

"Thank you, dearest…the thought of anything happening to you is unbearable," he whispered, and for a moment Christine felt guilty.

He only wanted to protect her from harm, just like he had promised, but this was one thing he could not touch…the bond with her father. This one day out of the entire year when she visited his grave and remembered all their time spent together was holy to her; not even Antoinette or Meg had ever accompanied her.

"When shall I bring the carriage, then?" he asked, lifting her face.

She smiled slightly. "At eleven o clock," she said calmly.

"All right, Christine, then I will say good night," Raoul said softly and kissed her lips

"Good night, Raoul," she said and, gathering her skirts around her, walked into the opera house.

Later that night she was looking out of the window as she lay in her bed. It would be easy to get to the graveyard without Raoul, but he would probably be horribly angry with her. She needed time to be alone, free from Raoul, free from Meg, free from Antoinette and the rest of the opera… free from Erik. She needed time to think.

**OOOOOO**

Christine rose early the next morning. Luckily they had the day off; otherwise, it would have been difficult to excuse herself. She acted her normal, happy self along with everyone else at breakfast, although Meg and Antoinette kept quiet around her; they knew what day it was. She changed into the dark blue and black gown as a respect to her father's memory, and as she changed, she looked into the mirror. Was this really the same girl as the one she had been six months ago? Her eyes were not wide and innocent, but filled with a tortured, melancholy and pain. She grimaced; she had been changed beyond the naïve innocence she had possessed before. She fastened the obsidian broche at her throat and put on her deep blue coat. On her way out, her eyes caught sight of the vase with the red roses Erik had given her these past months. Hesitating for only a moment, she reached out and took them with her.

She captured a droche that passed her at the place de l'opera and climbed inside, casting nervous looks over her shoulder.

"The cemetery at Perros," she instructed the driver.

"Certainly, mademoiselle," the man before her said, and he cracked his whip over the back of the horses, the carriage jolting forward.

Christine let her fingers glide across the petals of roses; their blood red colour had faded into a blackish burgundy colour. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, and she sighed. She felt so terribly helpless, like she had no control whatsoever over the events that surrounded her. She looked down on her fingers that were enveloped into black lace gloves. The Parisian streets were unusually abandoned, and the sky was grey, with mist flowing amongst the roads. Christine leaned back in her seat and let herself sink into the memories of her father. She jerked up when a picture of Erik suddenly flashed before her eyes. She groaned. _Why can't you just leave me alone?_ She thought, frustrated.

The cemetery was a gloomy sight as Christine reached it. The dark sky seemed even greyer than it had in the centre of Paris, and the fog lay like a thick veil over the gravestones, which looked like hands reaching desperately to the sky for salvation. Christine shivered, and for a second or two, she considered asking the driver to take her back. Then she shook her head and got a hold of herself; she fought with Raoul about it, she wasn't going to back out now. It was her father's day. She retrieved the money from her purse and gave some coins to the driver. Gathering her cloak around herself, she started walking through the gravestones, the sound of the bells in the small church nearby echoing through the silence.

She never saw the dark figure as it followed her into the mist…

* * *

Review please... 


	20. The Little girl lost and Found

**A/N: **Hey you guys here is the graveyard scene; there is a lot of change, but the general form of the scene is as it was before. The chapter title is taken from the beautiful poems (yes, it is drawn together by two) by William Blake. I will spare you for a long explanation for the reason to the long update, but school has been crazy lately, and I have some mess in my personal life, so I haven't really had the energy to write lately, but I am very sorry I have let you wait for so long, but never fear there is not that long to go now.

Thanks to my wonderful editor Bondaged Vampiresa.

**Mina: **Thank you a thousand times darling :SQUEE: I love you for that review, and I am very sorry it took so long for me to get it updated, but well… You must know what it's like when things go all crazy. And I am SO happy you think I've portrayed all the characters good as well as Christine's torment. By the way thanks for the credit you give me, but I don't think they'll publish it though.

**EriksIngenue: **My story the best ever :blushes: you flatter me now, but thank you very much.

**Eriksangelofvoice: **Yeah I know it suck, but unfortunately it's necessary for me to make her life suck.

**Twinkle22:** Thank you, the scene with Erik and Nadir was probably the hardest part of the god damned chapter to write.

**Mominator: **Well thank you dear, I'm glad you liked it. About the other girls, I try to get some more perspective on the story than just the love story, so it pleases me you like it.

* * *

Chapter 19

The Little Girl Lost… and Found

The mist seemed to stick to any bit of Christine's skin that wasn't covered by her many layers of clothes. Her fingers, enveloped in black lace, clutched the stems of the dried roses. The fog stirred around her feet as she walked, like the earth itself was breathing. All around her, gravestones heaved from the air, some of them even toppled over and lying damaged on the ground. The mausoleum that had been raised for her father radiated with a strange, tranquil melancholy. She smiled sadly and walked up the few steps to the grate door, where she put the roses.

She brushed a stone free of snow and sat down, looking at the engravings of her father's name over the door.

She sat silently, ignoring the cold that was beginning to seep through her clothes. She sighed deeply, melancholy flowing through her body. By god! How could she ever have let herself get caught up so efficiently in her childish fantasies.

"Oh Father, I wish that you were still here…none of this would have ever happened; you would have prevented everything," Christine said to herself, and she looked down on her feet that were drawing small circles in the snow. She bit her lip to stop her tears.

Then, so softly it was almost inaudible, the faint tune of a violin started up. For a few seconds Christine thought it was merely an old childhood memory resurfacing, when she suddenly realised it wasn't a recollection, but very real. She could have recognised the soft strain of the violin everywhere; she had heard that violin so many times as a child…but how was it possible? Her father's old violin was back in the opera house…

_Erik. _It hit her suddenly, the name echoing inside her head. He had followed herShe rose forcefully to her feet. "ERIK!" Her yell cut across the silent graveyard. "I know it's you, show yourself!"

The violin stilled, and there was silence except for the rapid beating of her heart in her ears. Then she heard his voice.

"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance…" His voice was soft, yet filled with a mocking undertone.

He appeared from behind mausoleum, the violin in his hand, once more looking like the perfect gentleman, dressed in black, the white mask in stark contrast. His one leather clad hand held her father's violin. He seemed to tower before her, and Christine lifted her hands to her mouth, her eyes widened in fear. She swallowed hard and lowered her hands.

"Why are you doing this, Erik?" she asked him quietly, only a slight shiver in her voice revealing the distress welling within her.

He lifted one elegantly arched eyebrow. "You must know my motives by now, Christine… I thought it was obvious."

She shivered at his tone of voice. She did not answer his question; she knew he loved her. Instead she asked another question. "Why are you deceiving me like this?" she said, clenching her hands to hide their trembling. Erik would without a doubt see it otherwise.

He quickly lifted his gaze to hers, before Christine could evade it, and her breath became caught in her throat. She had to resist the urge to lift a hand to her throat. The pain and emotion in his eyes was suffocating her. This time, it was not Christine who walked to him; she was frozen to the spot. It was Erik who elegantly walked down the stairs to the mausoleum. He stood before her and they merely looked at each other for the longest time. Then he ever so slowly reached out his hand towards her face. Her lips parted slightly, and she stared at him, wide-eyed. She was trembling, both fearing and anticipating what would happen. When his eyes suddenly flashed and became to fathomless deeps, Christine shrieked in fury and flung herself at his chest. Her small fists hammered into the broad expanse.

"Curse you!" she sobbed. "Damn you Erik! Why do you do this? You have twisted my mind so much that I don't even know what I feel. Why can't you just leave me alone?" she wept frustrated

He gripped her arms to still her furious fists, shaking her.

"Because I love you!" he roared. "That is why I can't let you go!"

She wept helplessly, but she choked on her sobs as she felt his hand cup her chin turning her face towards his. She was breathing heavily, and he shifted his gaze to her full lips. Christine's breath hitched and she stared at his as well. The coldness of the graveyard suddenly didn't matter as the heat rose between them. Erik felt the arousal start to boil in his blood, as he watched her full rosy lips. Carefully he removed is hand from her cheek and lifted it to her lips, tracing the outline of her mouth.

"Christine." Her name left his lips like it was the most sacred word one could speak.

Christine's mind was drawn back to the night where Erik had entered her bedroom in his house underground, as she felt his fingers following her lips. The heat she had experienced so many times when she was with him, or dreaming of him, was pooling in her belly, and she let out a shivering breath. His eyes sprung to hers again, and the heat coiled tighter when she saw the feral dark look in them.

"Erik…" Christine never even realised what it was she was going to say when a voice suddenly echoed across the graveyard.

"CHRISTINE!" It was Raoul.

She snapped out of the daze she had been in with Erik's caress on her face, and she clasped her hands over her cheeks, concealing the blush that suddenly rose in them. Raoul rode into the cemetery, his face flushed from the cold wind and the horse's flanks wet with sweat.

"Keep away from him Christine!" Raoul yelled and jumped down from the horse.

"Well, Monsieur le Vicomte, you have decided to join us," Erik said mockingly, looking with contempt at Raoul, who was sweaty and red-faced in comparison to Erik's ice-cold elegance.

Raoul's eyes darted between Christine and Erik. His fiancée seemed terrified, and yet she would not look at him. She had backed away from the Phantom and had wrapped her arms around herself, not looking at either of the men.

"If you have done anything to her, Phantom, I'll kill you," he said, and Erik's eyes fell on the pistol and sword in Raoul's belt.

"Do you think it wise to threaten an expert in the area, monsieur?" Erik asked calmly, weighing his opportunities. With enough dexterity and precision, he could avoid the boy's gunshots.

He fingered the inner pocket of his cape, feeling the Punjab lasso lying safely within, and he quickly got it out, preparing it underneath the cover of the cloak. It would be so easy to just snap the boy's neck and bring Christine with him. He was beginning to see red with his longing to kill the insolent, interfering boy. The boy seemed quite insecure as he looked into Erik's ice-cold, threatening eyes.

"You have harmed Christine enough, let her go," Raoul said, his fear was rapidly being replaced with anger.

"No," Erik said quite simply.

"Let her go," Raoul said again, his voice trembling with anger.

Erik felt the lust for blood course through his veins; he had learned to use such hunger for his advantage, instead of being ruled by it. When the latter happened, one tended to get clumsy and make mistakes. A real killer knew how to keep his focus. He saw the slight tension in Raoul chest and arms, revealing his next movement, and when Raoul reached for his gun and pulled the trigger, Christine moved forward with an anxious sound, afraid for the life of both men. Erik already dodged it and swiftly knocked the pistol from the younger man's hand where it was lost somewhere in the snow and mist. The marble head of an angel exploded into pieces when the bullet hit it.

Raoul pulled the sword from his scabbard and looked at Erik with a wild look in his eyes. With a roar of anger he struck out against Erik, who evaded the attack easily, pulled out his own sword that hung by his side. For a few minutes the only sound to fill the graveyard was the heavy breathing of the two men, and the hard sharp sound of their blades colliding. Raoul grew more and more frustrated when he realised that the Phantom was merely taunting him. He easily blocked every parade and every blow he gave him; it was like he knew what Raoul would do before he knew himself. He was completely absorbed in the fight and didn't realise that Christine was following them, watching the fight, not knowing what she should do. It was only an instant later he felt the blade of the demon before him cut through the skin of his sword arm, and he screamed with pain, dropping the blade. In the blink of an eye, he felt something go around his neck, blocking his airways. Christine shot forward.

"Erik, please don't!" she pleaded, terrified, as she saw Raoul locked in the arms of her angel, the lasso digging into the skin of his neck.

Erik looked up from the blonde head, and his eyes locked with Christine's. He suddenly felt the bloodlust drain from his body as he looked into the despairing depths of her eyes. Completely confused he slackened his hold on the rope and looked helplessly at her. How could she possess this power over him? He could not kill the damned boy as he saw the fear and repulsion in her eyes. Raoul felt the rope slacken, and he breathed deeply before leaping away from the monster that had captured him. Forcefully he threw Erik to the ground and he gripped his blade, lifting it into the air, ready to strike, when a voice suddenly stopped him.

"Raoul! No!"

He stared at Christine, completely astounded. How could she not want him dead, after all he had done to part them, to make her unhappy? His sword was still in the air, ready for the finishing blow.

"Not like this," she said, her voice was a mix of pity and despair. She could not bear to see him killed in front of her like this, even though he had been so close to killing Raoul himself, garrotte him in the same way as he had done to Buquet. She could not let it happen like this…if he was killed, he would never get the change for retribution. Maybe it was the look of utter anguish in his eyes when he had met her gaze for the few seconds that had given Raoul the upper hand.

She saw her fiancée hesitate for a few moments before he lowered the sword and put it back into its sheath. He shot Erik a look complete contempt before walking to Christine and gripping her by the elbow, guiding her to the horse.

As Raoul helped her up onto the saddle, Christine looked at Erik; he was still on his back in the snow, the visible side of his face contorted in pain and anger. She bowed her head from his fury and felt Raoul's form behind her as his arms encircled her waist. She stole one last glance at Erik who was now slowly straightening his powerful form. Then Raoul slapped the reins against the neck of the horse, and they shot from the graveyard with haste. The tears started to spill from her eyes, the shock from the events that had taken place were sinking in. They had almost killed each other. A heart-wrenched sob left her lips, and she covered her eyes with her trembling hands. Raoul heard the sounds of her despair and he tightened his arms around her, leaning down so his cheek was against hers, muttering comforting words in her ear. He dared not stop, fear of the creature still coursing through him, and he wanted to get Christine to safety as quickly as possible. All the anger of her disobedience was completely forgotten. He only thanked God she had not been harmed.

But not all bruises are visible ones.

**OOOOOO**

Most of the chorus girls and dancers used their day off to go to town; the dormitories were empty except for Meg, who knew that Christine usually liked to have some company when she came home from the cemetery. She was reading _The Woman in White_, a thrilling story Olivier had recommended to her. She was suddenly shaken out of her absorbance in the story when Christine burst through the door to the quiet dormitory, with a look of utter misery on her dainty face.

"Mon Dieu, Christine, what is wrong?"

Christine was not able to speak; her fragile body was trembling all over. Meg got up from her bed and walked to Christine.

"They almost killed each other," she sobbed and collapsed into Meg's arms. Meg almost fell from the weight she was suddenly burdened with. Christine let go of Meg and lifted her hands to her face. The tears were streaming down her face, her heaving breaths making it difficult to get enough air with her tightly laced stays.

"I talked to him, and he came, and I…" she had to stop gasping for air, the sounds that came from her was almost unbearable. She was struggling for breath.

"Christine, please," Meg begged and reached out for Christine's hands. "Try to calm down and tell me what happened," she said pleadingly.

"Can't breathe," Christine gasped, and Meg hurriedly opened her gown and unlaced the corset, making the brunette take a deep gulp of breath. She was shivering helplessly, and Meg manoeuvred her to her own bed, and they sat down together.

"Now tell me what happened," she murmured, her voice filled with worry.

"Erik followed me to the graveyard," she began, shaking once more. "And I wanted him, Meg," she wailed. "I wanted him so desperately, but then Raoul came, and he…. And he was so angry, they fought, and they…" She was interrupted again by a series of hoarse sobs tearing through her lungs. "They almost killed each other… God, Meg, why do I want him when he's like that? Why do I want him when I have Raoul? I love Raoul, and he's the best man who has ever drawn a breath on this earth…then why do I want a killer?" She collapsed into Meg's arms and let out a wail of such desperate despair that Meg felt herself get tears in her eyes.

"I don't know, Christine…I don't know," she said and held Christine as tight she could.

"It hurts… Oh God, it hurts so much, Meg," she whispered and finally her breath calmed considerately.

"I know, Christine," she said and stroked her friends dark curls.

"No, you don't know," Christine yelled and stood up forcefully. "You don't know what it's like to be torn to pieces with regret and doubt," she shrieked. "They don't deserve this; I don't deserve any of them." Her shoulders slumped. "It hurts so much," she let herself pool to the floor, burying her head in her silk skirts.

Meg kneeled down beside her and wrapped her long, slender arms around Christine's shaking body. She rested her head on her back and cried with Christine.

**OOOOOO**

In the meantime Raoul was sitting in the managers' office, his face clenched in pain as a doctor sewed the deep cut in his arm. His blood-soaked shirt sleeve was ripped open, and he held a towel to the underside so the blood wouldn't drip down on the expensive Persian carpet that covered the floor.

"We need to get this maniac behind bars. The gendarmes can't do anything, but we can't let this go on," he said through gritted teeth.

"What do you propose we do?" Andre said wearily as he looked at the pale youth.

"We must arrange an ambush," he said, and he yelped with pain as the doctor accidentally pricked beside with the needle.

"Monsieur, I must ask you to sit still," the doctor said harshly.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry," he murmured. To the managers, he said, "The Phantom is madly in love with my fiancée," he said. "He will do anything to win her, and that, gentlemen, is where we have the advantage. If she sings, he will watch her," he said and once more gritted his teeth with pain.

"What do you mean?"

"His opera… she told me she knew he had written that role for her," he said, and looked down on the wound which had now been closed and cleaned. He nodded satisfactorily to the doctor.

"Thank you, Doctor Larousse… If you'll kindly leave the bill with my manservant, he'll make sure money is brought to you."

"Thank you, Monsieur de Chagny," the doctor said, and he bowed before gathering his equipment and walking out of the room.

"We're waiting, Monsieur Vicomte," Richard said impatiently.

"When Christine performs as Aminta at the opening night the day after tomorrow, we should assume our Phantom will be watching."

Both mangers' faces lit up as they realised what Raoul had planned. "The gendarmes…" they started.

"…Will be posted at every entrance in this opera; he will not get away," Raoul said. "We will close our hand around him and…" Andre interrupted him with a smirk.

"He will be behind bars, and we will not be bothered by him anymore," Andre said eagerly.

"Exactly, gentlemen," he stated and looked at them with a challenging glance.

"I think we have an accord, monsieur," Richard said, and with one look at Andre's face, he saw it held the same amount of eagerness as his own.

"If you'll inform the police, I'll tell Christine of our plans," he said, and he stood up, his face lit with resoluteness, hope burning inside him. If they could get rid of that _thing, _Christine would be free to love him with no holding back. There would be nothing to poison their love.

**OOOOOO**

Raoul shed his blood-soaked and ruined coat and handed it to the butler when he came into the hall of the de Chagny grand town house.

"Would you like a fresh shirt and coat, young master?" the butler asked him.

"Yes please, that would be kind of you," he said and walked up the stairs to his chambers. Inside he carefully took off the shirt as well, the fine white linen soaked with sweat and blood, the sleeve ripped to shreds.

As he was putting on a fresh shirt he heard someone walk through the door. He looked into the mirror and saw the broad-shouldered, strong frame of his brother.

"You know you are disgracing our family with your acts with that girl, don't you?" he asked, the careful tone revealing the restraints his brother was putting on himself.

"Why should I care about the meanings of our stuck up relatives, Philippe?" he asked as he tied his cravat, his movements getting fiercer as he felt the anger boil inside of him.

"I do, Raoul, and you have obligations to our name and kin. You're endangering your own social standing with that girl."

Raoul donned the coat and winced when it pulled at the wound. "Maybe, but I have obligations to Christine as well… obligations when it comes to our love."

"What has happened with you?" Philippe asked harshly.

For a brief moment he considered lying to his brother, as he knew it would probably make matters worse, but he decided against it. "The Phantom paid Christine a visit when she was visiting her fathers grave. I arrived just in time to prevent him from abducting her."

"And got wounded in the process; damn it, Raoul!" Philippe roared "You don't owe that girl anything! And you certainly don't owe her to tackle the madman she has brought on herself." He clenched his hand on the marble statue by his side.

"Of course I do… Wouldn't you have done the same for Louisa?" he asked, looking directly into the ice blue eyes of his brother. He knew instantly that it had been a mistake to bring up his sister-in-law. Philippe's eyes narrowed with anger.

"Don't you even dare to compare your little chorus girl to Louisa. She was a lady, not an ungrateful little whore."

Raoul's lips went white, and his hands clenched and unclenched. It took all of his self-control not to attempt to jump at his brother and knock him to the floor.

"Don't you dare call Christine a whore again, Philippe, or I'll make sure you'll regret it," he hissed, and with those words he walked past his brother.

"Didn't you see how she walked to him at the masquerade, Raoul? She is his little whore… She's probably down with him in his dungeon right now, being fucked till she screams," he roared. Raoul never looked back, but he stopped in the doorway and answered Philippe with a voice so cold it could have chilled anyone to the bone.

"She is not like your little whore Sophia Sorelli who spreads her legs for anyone," he said disdainfully, he looked back at his brother with hatred. "She has a name, Philippe… Christine Daae, future vicomtess De Changny, whether it is with your blessing or not."

With those words he slammed the door shut with such force that the old de Chagny crest on the wall fell to the floor. Philippe stared at the crest with irony "there goes the dignity of the de Chagny kin." He muttered to himself.

There was only one way to tell if the young chorus girl were as flawless as Raoul claimed.

**OOOOOO**

Christine sat within the chapel, trying her best to ignore the cold. The bitter air wasn't as cold as the fear inside of her. She was staring paralysed into the flame of the single burning candle, all of her past experiences with Erik replaying before her eyes. She bit the tip of her thump and shivered in the chill. How could Raoul make her do this? She heard the steps behind her, but she did not turn; she knew already that it was Raoul.

"Don't make me do this." Her voice was so low it was barely even a whisper, but it echoed against the grey stone walls. She removed her hand from her lips and looked up at him. His calm and safe handsome face looked down at her with worry and tenderness.

"I scares me," she said insistently.

"Don't you want to be free of him?" he asked and walked towards her. She rose, her black skirts rustling, and she wrapped her own arms around herself and walked to the windowsill.

"Yes I do, but don't ask me to betray him like this… it's wrong being set free with murder." She sat down, looking away from him.

"No one is talking about mur…" He was silenced by the look in her eyes; she knew he would be killed if he were found… the punishment of murder was execution.

"Christine, you can't keep protecting him, damn it! This is the only way," he said, frustrated, and ran his fingers through his golden hair. He walked to her and sat down before her, trying to make her look at him, but she refused.

"I feel nothing but disgust with myself, Raoul," she said. "He has given me so much, and you're planning to get him caught, with my help. I can't imagine a betrayal more definitive," she said miserably.

"Christine, you know I'd much rather see you remain uninvolved in this, but we need you; there is no other way," he said, while his gentle hands enveloped her shoulders. "He'll never let you go, and you know it just as well as I." His handsome features contorted into an angry frustration.

"I know Raoul, I know that better than anyone, and it scares me." She looked at him, her eyes pools of despair. "I fear the betrayal just as much as I fear that something could go wrong… we'll be parted forever, he wont let me go," she whispered and buried her face in his chest. Raoul was safe and tender; she needed something stable, firm and safe to hold on to in this storm inside of her.

"I'll never let that happen, Christine," he whispered into her hair.

"I know, but what will wait for me in that opera? I'm afraid he has something planned…" Raoul's hand slid up to cup her neck, and he looked into her saddened eyes.

"Out last prayer rests on you, Christine; if we don't catch him now, he'll haunt us till the end," he said softly and pulled her into his arms. He cradled her petite body, and Christine sucked the strength from him.

**OOOOOO**

Christine was exchanging some last few words with Meg before walking to her dressing room. The smile faded from her face… it always did when she was alone. And now, with the premiere tomorrow night, she got more and more jumpy, and the anxiousness of how the night would pass was draining her. The heavy skirt of pink silk and black lace swirled around her legs as she walked along the bare wooden floors. Suddenly she heard steps behind her and anxiously she swirled around to see Philippe De Chagny walking towards her. She felt her face pale in nervousness; a conversation with him could not be a good thing.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Daae, I was hoping to catch you after today's rehearsal," he said, his comfortable yet sharp bass voice filled her with uneasiness.

"Comte Philippe," she said, smiling tensely.

"I must congratulate you; I saw a bit of the rehearsal today, it seems like a very…interesting opera, very modern," he said. She thanked him graciously, but silently she wondered where the discussion was heading.

Philippe watched the young diva with searching eyes. She was as beautiful as ever, though he perceived a weariness and tension about her. She seemed nervous, and he noticed how she clenched her hands. She sighed and let her hand slide across her forehead, and when her eyes locked with his, he sensed a strange resignation inside of them.

"Look, Philippe, I have a feeling you didn't come here to discuss how my rehearsals went… I'm guessing you have something you want to say," she said and pulled herself to her full height, looking him firmly in the eyes.

"Well, let me put it this way, mademoiselle: You are very passionate about your singing, non?"

She controlled her inwardly outburst of frustration. "Yes, that is true."

"As a woman so much in love with your art, will you be able to give everything up to be my brother's wife? Give up your old life, your friends, never to sing on stage again…because as the wife of a nobleman, that will be out of the question," he asked, and Christine blinked, staring at him in shock of the brutality of his remark.

"I love your brother," she said, although she cursed herself for not being able to still the shaking of her voice.

"Christine, let's be reasonable; I don't want to see you as my brother's wife." Christine looked up at him calmly, unsurprised by the bluntness of his words. She swallowed.

"I think you made that clear from the beginning, Philippe," she stated.

"I guess I haven't, and I am aware that your dealings with this Opera Ghost have not been entirely virtuous voice lessons," he said with grave seriousness.

"How dare you…" she sneered at him.

"Don't play innocent; I could see it in the way you looked at him. He is more than just a tutor to you, which is why I want you to break of the engagement with my brother." Christine looked at him with pure hatred in her gaze.

"I will not break of my engagement to Raoul unless he is not interested in me anymore," she hissed, and she made a move to turn around when Philippe spoke again. "I will offer you this check to disappear out of his life… This way, you can get a large sum of money and keep singing on stage." He held the check out towards her.

Christine threw him a look of utter disgust. After a moment, she took the check, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. The expression faded into a sneer as Christine ripped the check down the middle and threw the pieces at him.

"I do not want your money, Philippe… Wealth means nothing to me. I would love your brother if he was a simple street musician as well," she hissed, and with those words she strode away.

"If you loved him, you would not ruin him like this," Philippe yelled after her, but she did not react.

**OOOOOO**

During the entire First Act, the faces of the crowd had expressed a mixture of disgust and fascination as the erotic spectacle unfolded before them. The lyrics and open sexuality of the piece appalled the old high nobility of Paris, yet drew them in. There was no escaping the music that was pure emotions from the mind of a tortured soul.

"Christine." Antoinette's voice interrupted her musings, and she looked at the regal face of her foster mother, lined with nervousness.

"Yes, Nettie, what is it? I need to get on stage in a moment," Christine said, gazing at her.

"Be careful, Christine, I am in no doubt that he will act tonight. The fact that he hasn't yet makes me more uneasy; he has something planned tonight, and he knows this opera house better than anyone," she said anxiously, wetting her lips. "And he is much more cunning than any one of those who plot against him."

She looked fearfully at Nettie before Julie came to her. "Christine, you need to get on stage now."

With one last glance at Nettie's face, she walked out onto the stage, the crowd swimming before her eyes.

**OOOOOO **

Erik felt nothing but disgust as he looked upon the dead body of Piangi. The man had fought; he had to admire him for that. He took Piangi's discarded cloak, adjusting his black mask and looking out through the red curtain. He saw Christine, and the sheer exquisiteness of her face and voice that sounded from her full lips struck him like a knife. To think such a beauty could be so treacherous. He had heard the conversation the managers had had two days ago. They planned to catch him, and she had agreed to be the key. He felt the rage churn inside of him. After all he had given her, she was going to betray him like this. Naturally it had not been difficult to incorporate the gendarmes, which were now posted everywhere. They were not that hard to avoid with the trapdoor in the stage floor. It was time for Christine to return to the one she belonged. His cue was there; it was time to take his place on stage, and carefully he went through the red curtains, the cloak drawn closely around him so one would see the change.

The game could begin.

Christine was sitting and waiting at the table as the role had scripted, when she suddenly heard a voice that froze her blood to ice, yet made it rush faster than ever.

"Passerino, go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey…"

She clenched her hands in her gown. The voice was like liquid gold and heated silk upon the skin. It was not happening; it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes connected with those burning amber and green irises. A slight gasp escaped her lips. No, there was no doubt. It was Erik.


	21. The Darkest Sides of Love

**A/N: '**Ello again my readers…here you get Don Juan Triumphant, the scene I know many of you have looked forward to, considering the shameful sexiness that Erik shows in this scene. RAWR. I certainly don't hope it will disappoint you guys. I must warn you, Erik gets really nasty in this chapter, so if you don't like this, I suggest you don't read it. I have done my best, and soon the ending will arrive. Who will it be, Erik or Raoul? Or perhaps neither of them? Stay tuned in for more. Tehe. I know that I am a wicked, wicked woman.

But great God, I'm so sorry for the long time with no update, but I've been completely stressed out lately, I've had tons of assignments…. There I go, making excuses for myself…in the end, it comes down to the fact that I haven't been able to manage it… Anyways…. Here it is.

**Lindzm819: **Thanks a lot and I'll do my best

**ChristinelovesPhantom: **Thank you very much. And I am updating, but it's just friggin hard to do so, when I'm constantly given a huge burden of homework. That and the thing I want to make them as good as possible, which means a lot of rewriting.

**Mominator:** I'm glad you liked it, the cemetery scene was important for me as well, because well Erik is a trained killer Raoul is not, which makes the outcome of the fight in the movie quite illogical. And yes that was why he was able to determinate it, I had to get Philippe into the story some more, because I thought he was to good a character to let go to waste.

**Twinkle22:** Well I'm happy you liked it, and I've done as good I can with this chapter, since I know everyone loves point of no return.

**Eriksangelofvoice:** I know, I try my best to update quickly, but it's hard to find the time, because I'm so damned busy all the time.

**Katiebabs:** Thanks for the compliment

**EriksIngenue:** :giggles: Well dear, I'm very glad you liked it, and well about Philippe, you're not an idiot, I know what it's like to have an oversexed mind myself.

**Mina:** Thank you SO much honey. I love your reviews, they always brighten my day, and almost poetical in its praise I must say I'm really flattered. Thanks a bunch, but I'm still not telling you what dear Christine will do. As for the publishing thingie…. Well… It could be cool to have it published, but I doubt they will do it.

* * *

Chapter 20

The Darkest Sides of Love

"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which, till now, has been silent…silent…" He lifted a finger to his lips, and Christine shivered at the sensual gesture.

"I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge…" She closed her eyes, and her lips parted slightly. Though her mind was screaming in panic, her body was treacherously reacting to his voice. "In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defences, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me. No second thoughts, you've decided, decided…"

Desirée walked to the edge of the backstage area when she heard the man's voice ringing out clearly across the auditorium. The voice was intoxicating, so beautiful and sensual that it seemed otherworldly. She looked at Blanche by her side with a frown. Blanche looked as bewildered as herself; it didn't sound like Piangi, and in fact he didn't look like Piangi at all either. But the voice… She felt a faint excitement start as a dull pulse in her body, and she lifted her hand to her chest, gasping slightly in surprise. How could a voice call out to her like that? Her eyes fell on Christine who was sitting at the table, lips parted, hand in her lap, and a look of both panic and lust lining her face. Something was not right. She looked to the side as the regal and proud figure of Antoinette Giry came to a halt beside them, her gaze locked on Don Juan. She lifted her hand to her chest, and a look of pure shock made its way onto her face. Desirée looked out onto the stage, utterly bewildered. What was going on?

That voice…Christine felt it call to the deepest and darkest crevices of her soul. His voice weaved a web of enchantment around everyone who heard it. The voice called to all the darkness she locked away inside of her, the darkness that only he knew existed. She rose from the table, feeling the lust coarse through her veins. The black silk shawl fell from her fingers, forgotten as she stared into his transfixing eyes. He moved around her like a predator closing in on its prey.

Then, with no warning he gripped her throat from behind, loosely, yet with a sensual caressing pressure to her flawless skin. She felt her knees go weak and her heartbeat escalate. "What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?" He let go of her neck and allowed his long fingers to trail down her arm, his sweeping caress leaving a trail of fire down her arm. She shivered as his eyes locked with hers, and she swallowed with difficulty. His long elegant hand let go of hers, and she quickly moved a few steps away from him. She tried to think clearly in spite of the desire and panic that was clouding her senses. _You can't blow it now, Christine…you must do something! Oh God, what should I do? Please, someone help me… _She looked around her, and then wet her lips, her eyes meeting Erik's once more. Christine had to buy herself some more time; she was supposed to make the others realise it was him. Her mouth opened and the words of Aminta started to flow from her lips.

"You have brought me, to that moment when words run dry…to that moment where speech disappears into silence, Silence . . ."She looked at Raoul, desperate for him to read her glance, her eyes pleading with his. _Raoul, please, can't you see it's him? _Raoul frowned and then looked at Christine, brow furrowed. She was trying to make him understand something… He looked at the man on stage with Christine, and his insides turned cold as his gaze locked with the eyes of the man…the mysterious amber and green eyes of the Phantom burning from behind the mask. Raoul froze in horror. The Phantom had waded past all the gendarmes, completely avoided their trap… What was this creature? He could not possibly be human.

Christine swallowed and then her tone of voice changed. It turned sultry, lustful. "I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenceless and silent - now I am here with you: no second thoughts, I've decided…Decided . . ."

Erik watched Christine with a heated glance; her voice was more beautiful that ever, flawless and utterly heart gripping, and his body burned with lust from it. Never in his life had he imagined that the first time he would touch her skin would be on a stage for all of Paris to see. His fingers still tingled with the memory of how her heated silky skin had felt underneath his hands, how her rapid pulse had fluttered against his fingers as he gripped her throat. They were moving towards the end…before the night was over she would be his, and no one would be able to stop him…not her little finacée on the balcony, not the gendarmes, Nadir or anyone else. She was his, and by God, he would not be denied. When they were on the bridge, all he would have to do was to sever the rope they would disappear into the trapdoor that led to the tunnels.

As they started to move away from each others, each heading towards a staircase, their eyes locked, and the tension grew as she sung the words of a woman resigning to lust and seduction. Suddenly Christine realised it was not Aminta's desire for Don Juan she sung of any longer…it was her own lust for Erik, no one but him, and she knew that they were far from pretending and acting anymore.

"When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames, at last, consume us . . .?" As she put her foot on the last step of the stairs her voice fell the lowest part of her range, a tone of pure hunger and yearning.

They halted at the top of the stairs, and then, with a sweeping motion, Erik discarded his cape and started towards her. Christine breathed deeply, and their voices joined in the crescendo, mingling perfectly, crystal clear soprano with velvety strong tenor, their voices in unison so beautiful and fatal it seemed unreal. Her palms gripped his shirt, and their eyes locked for a brief second before he spun her around in his arms, pressing her fragile body to his own. Christine's heart was pounding so painfully fast that she was sure the entire audience would hear it. The sensation of Erik's hand upon her own, guiding her to touch herself, was exciting in a way that she hardly dared admit to herself. She could feel the sign of his desire for her pressing against her rear, and instead of finding it offensive she instead felt her loins tighten with longing. Her entire body was aflame with such desire that it was almost painful.

Raoul rose at his box on the balcony, distress churning inside of him at the sight of Christine practically making love to that monster on stage for everyone to see. He breathed deeply to control himself. He had gotten the gendarmes rearranged, and they were now posted all across the backstage area and among the audience, waiting for the order to kill the creature. He would not escape…not this time. Soon he and Christine would be free from the curse she called Erik.

As Erik felt the violent rise and fall of her body against his own; she so lost in her passion that she could hardly breathe…the passion he had brought upon her with his voice. He breathed in the scent of roses in her hair, and he felt his heart break. He wetted his lips and took a shuddering breath, the lyrics from a love duet he had written for Christine months ago, all I ask of you, surfaced inside his mind, it was filled with all the sweet tenderness of his love for, none of the desperate lust that Don Juan contained. "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime… Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you want me with you here beside you…"

His voice had changed from the seductive timbre that made her body burn to a voice she had heard one time before…in her bedroom in his lair when he believed her to be asleep. He was breathing words of love into her ear, and she felt so wonderfully save in his strong arms, the burning lust calmed by his tenderness. She felt his fingers reverently touching her hair and the smoothness of her shoulder, and she rested blissfully against him.

Lost within the comfort of his arms, she was numb to everything else…but then suddenly a realization came to her…everything became clear, brought into focus, and she opened her eyes. She watched the blurred faces of the audience before her. _This was not how it was supposed to be! _Christine felt raw panic creep up her spine as Erik moved away from behind her and turned her towards him. His hand took one of her own, and she was torn in two: one side was screaming in panic to stop this foolish act, while the other was breaking into pieces because of his declaration of love. Their eyes connected, and she felt a sob tear through her body. His eyes were pleading for salvation from his demons in the depths of her innocent eyes. She lifted a shivering hand to his face and touched his cheek, her mind trying desperately to figure out what she should do.

"Anywhere you go let me go too…Christine, that all I ask of…." She ripped of his mask, revealing the horror of his face. For barely a second there was not a sound in the auditorium, complete and utter silence overtaking the audience, and then the screams and outburst of shock and disgust began. Christine looked into Erik's eyes, her own swimming with tears. _What have I done? _She thought in horror. Never had she seen more hurt in his eyes, and she felt her throat constrict. How was it possible for one person to contain so much pain? Her eyes begged for his forgiveness, but something had begun to stir in his eyes, something wild and untamed. His face twisted into a horrible sneer, and swiftly he enclosed her with one arm as his other hand swiftly cut a nearby rope, and suddenly the ground moved beneath them. She let out a scream as she felt herself fall downwards.

It was not long before she felt herself crumple onto a hard surface, but she almost didn't have the time to regain her breath before she was brutally hauled upright. She lost all sense of where she was as he pulled her through the underground corridors; she tried to speak, but his speed made her breath catch in her throat as his fingers dug into her wrist, the pain burning all the way through her arm. She lost her footing and tripped, ripping the seam of her gown. Erik staggered as he felt Christine's weight suddenly collapse. He regained his balance and pulled Christine up, half dragging her, half carrying her as he got her through the last part of the labyrinth before they arrived at his home. He let go of her, and she collapsed on the rich Persian carpet. She trembled; she dared not look at the creature she had created by pulling of his mask.

**OOOOOO**

At the surface Raoul sat completely paralysed for a few seconds; he could hardly believe what had happened. The expression on Christine's face as the Phantom sung that love song…that hadn't been in the script. Her look of ecstasy had made him, for a few terrible moments, think that she would choose the creature…yet then she had pulled of his mask, and she had showed it had all been an act. The next things had happened so fat that he hardly had time to register it…the thundering sound of the chandelier crashing had seemed to shake the walls with its force, and flames started to lick up from the ruins of the broken chandelier. People were screaming and struggling to get out. Raoul fought the feeling of nausea that welled up inside him. Christine was gone! He supported himself against the wall. He had to find her…oh God, what would that thing do to her?

Christine told him that he lived underneath the opera, but how on earth was he supposed to find them? He breathed deeply as to avoid panic. _Christine! Where has he taken her? _He rose and gripped the edge of the box, looking out over the auditorium. The screams echoed in his ears, his eyes melting over the living inferno of panic and confusion. He spun around and ran out of the box, colliding with Monsieur Khan. He gripped the smaller bony man to steady him and muttered a quick excuse, but to his surprise he felt the Persian's hand close around his arm. He looked at him in bewilderment.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," he said urgently.

"Monsieur Kahn, I really don't have the…"

"Time, I know," Nadir finished authoritatively. "But how do you plan on finding Erik and Mademoiselle Christine in this place? I know where he has taken her, and I will take you to them," he said, Raoul's eyes widened with shock.

"How do you know that?" he asked disbelieving as the older man pulled him along.

"I followed him," he stated as he led him through a side corridor. "I've been here many times since I arrived in the city, young monsieur." He walked on as they reached an old staircase that led downwards. As they climbed down, a thousand questions tumbled around in Raoul's head. The mysterious stranger filled him with curiosity, yet the terror for what was happening with Christine consumed him.

"Monsieur, you still haven't answered my question… How do you know about that monster?" Raoul asked urgently as he followed the dark-skinned man. The Persian turned around abruptly and looked at Raoul.

"Do not be to fast to judge him, Monsieur de Chagny."

"You all say that," Raoul yelled with frustration. "Christine even defended him, and look where that has gotten her now!" He suddenly felt the urge to weep and stamp the ground like a small child who hadn't been given the things he wanted. He took a deep breath to maintain his dignity…that was not what Christine needed in a rescuer.

"Monsieur, you have the luxury of looking at Erik in black and white…we who know him don't," the old man said wearily.

"Why?" Raoul hissed.

"He was not born a monster, you see," Nadir said heavily. "As far as I've been able to piece together, he was mistreated by his mother because of his face. His own mother, the one person who should have loved him unconditionally, turned from him. He ran away from home while still a child, and imprisoned by gypsies who displayed him as a monster."

Nadir looked at Raoul with a pained expression. The lantern lit up his haggard face and made the deep lines on his countenance seem even more pronounced. He looked old and weary as he stood there, his green eyes glittering from deep within his face. The youth watched him intensely, finally able to get some answers to all his questions about the madman from the depths.

"Erik has been put down so much his entire life that he has ended up believing it himself. He has been driven to this by a world that refused to accept him for what he was. I witnessed firsthand how he was twisted into a monster in his years in Persia, how the Khanumedged him on to delve into the darkest corners of his mind to find more and more brutal ways to kill. I have lost track on how many he murdered in those days. I suppose in Mademoiselle Christine he thinks he has found a key to some sort of peace." Nadir shook his head and sighed deep in frustration "Allah… Erik's story is a tragedy…when you come to understand, you will not judge the way you do now."

"What will he do with Christine?" Raoul asked him fearfully. Surely he would not kill her? The monster loved her, however twisted it seemed, and he would not kill the woman he loved.

"I don't know, monsieur, I do not have any answers to that question…Erik is as unpredictable as a desert storm."

"You don't think he will…" Raoul's voice died, and Nadir chose not to answer the question Raoul had not dared to finish. He didn't even know the answer himself.

"Come monsieur, we must hurry," Nadir said, and he led Raoul deeper and deeper into the dark underworld of the opera. As they reached the underground lake, Nadir stopped abruptly. He had forgotten to consider one particular obstacle. His years in the prison of Maderzeran had broken his body, and he did not possess half of the vitality he used to. He would not be able to cross the lake without the boat, and as much as he hated it, he would have to let Raoul continue alone. The black surface of the lake stretched out before them.

"Monsieur de Chagny, I'm afraid I must let you continue alone. I am not a young man like you, and it will be impossible for me to cross the lake by swimming." He turned his jade green eyes to Raoul. "Remember one thing, and it's very important… Keep you're hand at the level of you're eyes; and remember, Erik's temper is not one to be trifled with…he is completely unpredictable."

"Yes, monsieur Kahn…and thank you."

"Just be careful," he said apprehensively, and he watched fearfully as Raoul stripped off the outer part of his gala outfit and plunged into the ice cold water.

He was afraid that he perhaps just sent the boy to his death.

**OOOOOO**

"Well, my dear, I must say that was quite a show you put on up there," he said. The mock in his voice was like a whip across her back. "I had almost forgotten what it was like to be put on display for a screaming crowd." His sarcasm was biting, and she felt tears slowly run down her cheeks. "But what a finale! The chandelier crash concluded the performance with a good bang…don't you think it was a clear enough signal for people to clap?"

Christine lifted her head and looked at Erik with disbelief "T…the… The chandelier?" she asked, horrified.

"Yes, my dear, the chandelier," he said with a sneer. She rose, disbelief radiating from her every move. She stood before him, and she saw no regret in his eyes…only a swirl of emotions that almost made her dizzy as she stared into his depths.

"Erik…how could you…? People must have been killed!" She asked, her voice a breathy whisper of horror

"You know, Christine, being a murderer demands that you must kill people from time to time." The mock in his voice and the malice in his eyes made her tremble with fear.

He gripped her arm harshly and pulled her to the organ, her lips trembling. He let go of her, and she supported her hands on the organ, looking at him as he sat down and started to play. She knew the haunting tune immediately…Il Dolce Suono, the insanity aria from Lucia di Lammermoor. Erik played it on an octave so sombre and dark she felt herself become thrilled yet terrified…she had never heard the music played like this. The irony of his selection was blatant…the insanity aria. How appropriate.

"Sing to me, Christine," he thundered as his fingers pounded on the organ.

"Erik, please," she whispered.

"SING!" he roared, and his hands hammered down on the tangents. Christine flinched and looked into his eyes, so wild with emotion. She swallowed and started to sing the haunting piece.

"Alas Edgardo, Edgardo ah…

The spectre parts us.

Here let us hide Edgardo at the foot of the altar

It is strewn with roses! Celestial harmonies…

Do you not hear it? Ah, strains

Of our wedding hymn…the ceremony

Awaits us… oh how happy I am.

Edgardo, Edgardo, how happy I am!"

Christine sung on, dared not stop, didn't even dare to look at Erik. The untamed hurricane of emotion in his eyes filled her with dread. In her panic at the catwalk She had never been able to imagine that she could turn him into an incontrollable beast by pulling of his mask, How could she have? She had finally destroyed what little part of him that was human by betraying his love so utterly and completely. She had spun this tragedy for herself and for him. Now she was doomed to stay in this cold underground grave with the monster she had released.

"At last I am yours, at last you are mine.

God has given you to me."

The tears were running down her cheeks as she finished her song at a breathy sob. "Erik, please don't do this…"

"Do what, take you to my home, Christine?" he snapped. "You belong here; long ago you made a promise that you belonged to me, and I'm merely taking what is mine."

She looked at him with disbelief. He dragged her towards the curtain where his mannequin was hidden. He let go of her so suddenly that she had to grab a hold of the red velvet drapes. He pushed the curtain away and ripped the dress from the doll.

"Now, put this on," he said, holding the white sparkling silk up in front of her.

"No," Christine said harshly, the obligations of the wedding dress filling her with pure unrefined terror.

"Put it on." His voice was a low hiss laced with danger.

"I will not," she spat back at him.

Rage spread across his face, and an unpleasant sneer twisted his lips. "You refuse? Well then, I guess I have to help you."

Forcefully Erik took a hold of the material of her gown and tore it down at the front, his violent hands ripping the bodice apart. She quivered and moved to cover herself, but his strong hands forced her arms away from her body. Naked, consuming lust was in his eyes as they swept across the pale flesh of her breasts that were pushed up by the cream coloured corset. He reached out his trembling hand to touch her, but his hand changed direction and bored into her shoulders. His face constricted in effort, and Christine saw a vein in his forehead bulge out and pulse beneath his skin. A guttural sound escaped from his lips as his jaw clenched, and his fingers dug harder into her skin. Christine dared not utter a sound, she had the distinct feeling that if she broke his concentration she would unleash the beast inside of him on herself; he would take her like an animal. The heavy mood of fatality in the air chilled her to the bone. Finally she felt his grip lessen, and for a moment she the hopelessness in his eyes before it died out, leaving the obscure cloud of raging emotions swirl in his irises.

"Go change in your bedroom," he snapped, and he turned away from her.

This time Christine did not refuse; she stumbled into the bedroom and tried to lock it with clumsy fingers before she realised that the lock was broken and completely useless. She sat down on the bed and cradled herself in her arms, rocking back and forward while sobs racked her fragile body. How had it come to this? She had longed for him when she was younger, but then she had learned who he was, and it was impossible for her to be with him. No one could love a killer.

She found a new corset in the wardrobe, but her hands were trembling so much that she had to sit down and compose herself. She couldn't help but admire the beautiful wedding gown, even in the absurd situation of it all. His taste was exquisite, and she put on the many layers of the crisp white silk.

She looked around the room, and suddenly she saw the golden handle that led to depot passageway. The door was blocked, she realised with desperation, as she could barely move the handle. Despair was a black feeling, but Christine had no defence against it, and it consumed her. She was alone, Erik had gone mad with bloodlust and desire, and nothing could save her. Her knees hit the floor as she screamed. She merely screamed as she felt him haul her upwards, until she fell crying to the floor, half blinded by tears and her hair that hung before face like a curtain.

"Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood?" she looked up at his form that towered over her. "Am I now to be prey to you lust for flesh?" she whispered, her voice faltered.

He laughed bitterly. "Really, Christine, don't act like an imbecile…it doesn't suit you. Had I merely wanted your body I could have taken it years ago. Think of what you are wearing, Christine. I want a bride, and had you not struggled, it could have been brought about in a less painful way." His tone showed no sign of repentance.

"Why are you doing this?" Her beautiful voice was thin.

"WHY? WHY YOU ASK?" he roared. "I gave you everything, and you spat right in my face when you vowed yourself to that boy you call fiancée!" He turned his voice shrill and terrified. "He scares me so."

The horror filled Christine; he had heard everything they had said to each other on the rooftop.

"Erik, I was scared" she whispered. "You had just killed a man."

"Then you should have blamed me… Instead you ran into his arms! All I ever wanted to do was to love you, Christine…I wanted you to be happy," he murmured, and in spite of the gentle words, there were no tenderness in his voice.

"It's this face that poisons our love," he whispered, his tone broken by a sob. "This face which earned a mother's fear and loathing… She couldn't even bare to look at me; my first piece of clothing was a mask to shield her from the horror of her son's face."

"Erik I…."

He interrupted her harshly. "Your pity comes too late, Christine, face your fate!" He gripped her chin harshly when she refused to look at him. "An eternity of _this…_" He pointed to the ravaged flesh. "…Before your eyes."

Christine looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent in her angelic composure. Did he really think that it mattered what he looked like anymore?

"This haunted face holds no horror for me now," she said softly to him, and she walked to one of the countless velvet-covered mirrors and tugged the heavy curtain from the glass. "It's in your soul that the true distortion lies," she whispered, gazing at his slumped form. For a moment he seemed resigned, and his eyes fell shut.

Suddenly the sound of trudging footsteps reached their ears, and they both looked out through the wrought iron gateway.

"Wait…I think, my dear, we have a guest." Erik changed from the submissive, pitiful creature he had been moments before to the taunting madman again, and Christine's blood froze when she saw Raoul's face peering out at them from behind the gate.

* * *

review please 


	22. Author note

**A/N:** Hey everyone of my beloved readers

I am putting this in as a sincere apology to all of my readers, some of you I have probably lost after the indecent time there hasn't been an update. I am truely sorry for having updated before this, and this isn't exactly an update, more an explanation.

As I have said before, I'm not going to quit this story, ever! I will finish it, you can safely count on it. The reason for the missing updates is as follows.

I've had the most insane conflict about finishing this story. I got a writers block so to speak because I have not been able to make up my mind about who Christine shall chose for her companion in the future. I have made up my mind about it now, and I'm currently trying to find time to finish it up.

I've had some emotional problems. I've been suffering from stress because of my immense load of school work, and therefore it has been incredibly difficult finding time to write. Also I've been down because of some issues that I don't feel liek going into, it's sufficient to say that it have been having a very negative effect on my motivation to write, haven't really had the energy to do so.

Anyways, hopefully I will soon find the time and energy to write, and get this story wrapped up. I am truly sorry, I really am, I'm looking just as much forward to seeing the final result of this story as you guys am.

Yours sincerely

Elizabeth M.J


	23. Marriage Of Heaven And Hell

**A/N: **Thanks for all the support and understanding you have given me, and I'm happy to see that you have not all given up on me. It means a lot to have some people who have been along from the beginning.

I was in London recently where I saw the musical Phantom of the Opera live; it was an absolutely spectacular experience… I did fell in love with the Phantom's voice, as he certainly possessed one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard…. And I have to yank Gerry down from the pedestal, though I'm sad to do so, and place Earl Carpenter above him.

Anyways, here it is, the long-expected final chapter. There's massive Kay references in it, but I trust you can live with it. There will be no happy ending for either of our characters, I am sad to say. Well, here I'll give it to you AND NO PEAKING TO WHAT IT ENDS WITH!

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There's no time for us,

There's no place for us.

This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us

Freddy Mercury, _Who Wants to Live Forever_

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Chapter 22

Marriage Between Heaven and Hell

Christine felt like she was drowning in her own horror. The last person she had ever wanted to see down in Erik's lair was now looking at her. Her lips trembled as they formed the word _no_,though no sound left her. She lifted her hands to her mouth and a sob escaped her lips. Sweet… _stupid _Raoul had come to save her. Was there no end to their tragedy? Was everyone she loved going to be destroyed like she had destroyed Erik?

"Good evening, Monsieur de Chagny, this is indeed a terrible delight." Erik's voice sounded from behind her. This rattled Christine and she stepped forward, screaming, "Go away Raoul, he'll kill you! You don't know what you're doing."

Raoul fiercely took hold of the gate. "Are you insane, Christine? I won't leave you here with that monster." He gestured wildly towards Erik.

She was about to retort when she felt Erik's hand close over her shoulder, and she felt silent immediately. "Are you here to congratulate the happy couple, Vicomte?" Erik said mockingly as he encircled Christine's fragile shoulders with his arm. She was enraged with Erik and herself for not hating his touch even in a situation like this. She pushed at his chest, and her captivator let go of her with a leery smile.

"Let her go, you bastard!" Raoul roared as he yanked at the bars of the gate. Christine sent Erik a nervous glance. Erik would kill him, she knew that, and Raoul would not have a chance to win here in Erik's own domain… Here, he was the master. Here, everyone was slaves to his will…here in this hell pit and fairy palace.

"Raoul, leave! You can't save me… please!" she said desperately. Raoul ignored her, and he continued to press himself to the bars as he yelled his request once again. "Let her go!"

"I am afraid that is impossible, monsieur," Erik said and once again pulled Christine to him, her arms caught between their bodies. "Because your darling fiancée here had in fact already promised herself to me." He reached out his elegant fingers to caress her fair cheek. She turned her face from his touch with defiance; she could not bear to look him in the eyes. His once gentle hand took a hold of her face and turned it to his. "Before she became a nobleman's whore." Amber met sapphire as their eyes connected, hers full of tears and his of hatred.

"Don't touch her!" Raoul spat, his voice turning into a plead. "Show us some compassion." Erik let go of Christine abruptly at those words and turned his flaming gaze to Raoul. Christine let out a shivering sob, and her hands came up to cradle her chin.

"Don't lecture me about compassion, boy." Erik's voice lifted in a primitive roar of hatred. "Why should I show you any compassion? No one has ever shown me any!"

Raoul was taken aback by the uncontrolled hatred in the Phantom's voice, but he finally whispered urgently. "Please let me see her."

Erik hesitated for a few seconds, his chest heaving violently with exertion. "As you wish, sir," he said and turned to the lever, his lips twisted in a nasty smirk. The silence was deafening before the quirking sound of the gate lifting broke it, the water dripping into the underground lake. Christine stood motionless, her posture tense as a bowstring. Raoul stumbled through the entrance, his body weak with exhaustion. There she was, like one of god's radiant angels caught in hell. Her delicate little face was lined with nothing but hopelessness and grief. Their eyes locked, hers pleading and his filled with headstrong naïveté. Neither of them saw Erik pick up the folded catgut from the table beside him. Christine started towards the bank of the lake, her hands stretched out pleadingly.

"Raoul, please, turn back…I'm begging you, don't…" Her voice died as her mentor walked into the water. She swallowed thickly, tears pearling down her cheeks. She sunk to the ground, the wedding gown spread around her. Why had he come? He should not have known the way.

Erik spread his arms in a mockery of a greeting. "Monsieur, I bid you welcome." Turning his head slightly towards Christine, he said, "We will have a witness to our wedding, my dear, aren't you delighted?" Christine said nothing, merely looking down into the ground. "Why, you seem horrified boy! Did you really think I would harm her? Why would I make her pay for the sins which are yours?" Christine's head snapped up when she heard Raoul's strangled yell. Erik had his lasso around Raoul's neck, pinning him to the gate.

"NO!" she screamed, the sound ricocheting through the cavern walls.

"She'll be the only one who can save you now," Erik spat as he slammed Raoul's blonde head against the gate. "You stole her from me, you will be the one to bring her back to me again." His fingers bored into Raoul's chin, his own deformed features twisted in hatred.

As Christine stumbled forward, her foot got caught in the wedding dress, and she collided with the floor. She groaned with pain and felt something warm slide down her cheek, and she lifted her hand to her cheek, following the flow of the warm liquid up to her temple. Looking at her hand, she saw her own red blood mare her fingers, and she felt her breath begin to come in violent rasping gasps as she fought the nausea caused by the sight of her blood. Lifting her head, her chocolate coloured hair tumbled down into her face in a startling contrast to the skin that was white as alabaster from fear.

"Erik… please don't," she whispered, but every word was audible in the damp cavern.

"Start a new life with me," he ground out, "buy his freedom with your love." His once so beautiful voice was changed beyond recognition by hatred. "Refuse me and you send your lover to his death." His eyes were glacial with a mad hunger that chilled Christine to the bone.

"Christine, don't," Raoul spluttered, his words partly choked by the lasso. He drew in a strained breath. "He'll…" Erik tightened the catgut further and the blonde gagged on is own words.

She bowed her head against the cold stones, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as a few tears rippled down her cheeks. Her mind was panicking; she could not make this choice. She lifted her head again, her eyes pleading with Erik, who was walking towards her.

"This is the point of no return, Christine. Make your choice." His voice had turned into a dangerous hiss. Raoul shook his head as much as he could to the tight catgut around his neck. She could not sacrifice herself for him; he would not allow it.

Silence swallowed them all, so thick with emotion that it threatened to suffocate all three of them. Finally it was Christine's voice that echoed between the walls. "You have deceived me, Erik… You promised you would never harm me." Her voice became etched with a dark anger, like none she had ever felt. "I gave you my mind blindly."

"You try my patience, Christine," Erik said with a cat-like softness, his voice once again hauntingly beautiful that tugged painfully at her heart. The following roar was like an explosion, and Christine winched as if struck. "MAKE YOUR CHOICE!"

This was her choice to make; there was no one to help her or make the decision for her this time. The responsibility was hers alone to bear, and she felt her heart break with the burden. She looked at Raoul…she had known from the start that she could not let him die. She had taken too much from him already; she could not carry the responsibility of his life on her shoulders, too.

Anger was burning deeply inside of her, but as her eyes connected with Erik's, there was no insanity, bloodlust, or vengefulness…only utter despair. This was not the Phantom anymore; it was the scared little boy he had once been, fearing to be rejected. Christine shivered in the damp cold of the lair. What had either of them done for it all to lead to this tragedy? She swallowed and slowly rose, the fingers of her bloody hand clenching hard. Stilling the tremble of her lips, she resigned to her choice, for the first time carrying the burden alone. Out of it grew a strength she had never experienced before.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?" Her voice, frail as an infant's, lifted in the soft words, almost as if in a song. Her feet carried her to the edge of the lake and into the icy cold depths, but she hardly sensed the goose bumps that spread across her entire body as the water rose around her, soaking the wedding dress. The only thing she sensed was Erik, her soul reaching out a trembling hand towards his.

Erik stared in disbelief as Christine made her way towards him through the freezing water. This was not the timid little ingénue he had taught; this was a living, breathing angel who was merely masquerading as a mortal woman. He felt reduced to a snivelling, repulsive creature before this radiant creature.

"God give me courage to show you, you are not alone," she cried out and placed her small white hands on the expansive space of his chest. He felt a jolt of cold as her icy fingers connected with his skin, and he looked into the teary pools of her eyes, shaking like a withered leaf waiting for the first fall storm.

Wetting her lips the ingénue pushed herself up towards him and pressed her mouth against his in the tenderest kiss imaginable. His lips parted with a shivering gasp, and he felt her warm breath fan across his flesh. She was kissing him, the angel was kissing him! Every breath, every slight stir of her body, the reverent way her hands were curled against his chest spoke of absolution. She was forgiving him; she was passing mercy through her warm breath, breathing it into his body. Arms hanging limply down at his sides, he could only stand in agonized wonder and feel the kiss she bestowed upon him.

His angel gently pulled away and looked up him. His eyes were glossy with tears and an abyss of confusion, but deep inside she could see a spark of hope so faint it almost wasn't there. The tears started to rise in her eyes again and her lips quivered, and she slowly reached up a hand to brush his crisp hair out of his face. Lifting his hand he cradled hers against his deformed cheek as their eyes connected, time stood still. There was no past, no future…none of the hatefulness that had passed between them mattered. There was only now.

"Christine," he whispered brokenly and desperately pressed her hand to his ravaged flesh.

She felt her soul come undone at his whisper, and a yearning unlike anything she had ever felt before filled her. Her heart was aching for him, to complete him. Her lips parted in astonishment at the feeling, and with a breathy sob she rose towards him again and thrust her mouth desperately to his. Erik felt Christine's kiss pull him down, and a lifetime of hatred, murder, and despair exploded behind his eyes: His mother screaming and hitting at him… The first time he saw his face… The leering faces of spectators pressed against the bars… His knife ripping Javert's body open… Lucia falling from the roof terrace, her skull broken… The Khanum watching him kill with perverse glee… The terrified eyes of the harem girl… Reza's dead body in his arms… Gilbert's body on the edge of the lake… Christine huddled in a corner while he raged at her. The faces of all the men he had killed spun through his memory, and his lips returned her kiss with the same desperate fervour as Christine's. He wanted the light she was pouring into him. Finally they parted, and for a single moment they stared at each other, the instant seeming to last for an eternity… And then it was over. Erik had walked the earth for almost forty years without knowing what it was like to know the physical affection of another, and now with her kiss it all ended.

Raoul was frozen as he stared at the sight before him with a mixture of wonder, jealousy, and anger. The intensity that passed between them as they gazed at each other excluded him entirely. He was no longer there to the teacher and his student; they could might as well have been alone in the world. Though in spite of the burning anger inside of him, he felt strangely embarrassed…he felt he was intruding upon a private an intimate moment that he ought not to see. There was something devastatingly fatal about that kiss, and it chilled him to the bone.

With her hand still cradled against his face she smiled through teary eyes, though slowly the expression faded into a look of pure confusion as his shoulders began shaking and the tears slowly fell down his cheeks. Christine had given him the greatest gift anyone could ever receive; she had given him absolution, a possibility for redemption.

"Go…" he said and let go of her. "Take the boat and go with your boy." She reached out for his hand, not understanding what was happening. He could not be setting her free. Erik stepped out from her range and turned around, stumbling through the water, his shoulders hunched. "Go now and leave me!" His voice was a broken howl that went through Christine's heart like a knife. Paralysed with shock, she watched him flee into his secluded haven. He had set her free…she should be rejoicing, but all she felt was…sorrow.

"Christine." Raoul's plea was desperate and insistent, and the young soprano turned as if in a daze. Shaking her head, she lifted her heavy, water-clogged skirts and strode through the water to her fiancée. Struggling with his bonds, she clumsily got them undone, and immediately Raoul threw his arms around her. He was trembling like a wild animal, and so was she. At the sensation of his familiar scent in her nostrils she released a choked sob and felt the tears stream down her face. She had gotten what she wanted, her freedom to be with Raoul… Why was it then that she felt as if she had gotten her heart torn out?

"Come, Christine," he whispered and gently dragged her towards the boat. She was clinging to him, sobbing helplessly. However her eyes suddenly fell on the engagement ring that sat on her finger…it was not hers and Raoul's anymore. It was Erik's, it was her tie to him. She had to give it back to him; she wasn't worthy to carry it. When he began to help her into the gondola, she suddenly started struggling against his hold. "Let go, Raoul," she demanded, her voice shrill.

Raoul tightened his hold on her arm, his face terrified. "Are you crazy, Christine? I'm not leaving you down here." Christine's lips trembled. "Please, Raoul, let me say goodbye," she whispered with broken insistence.

"Don't you think you have said enough of a goodbye to him?" he questioned harshly.

"Please," she whispered, and for several moments they stared at each other. Then he let go of her, turning his face away. "Promise me you'll come back," he whispered, but she didn't hear him. She was already making her way into the house of her master.

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The rooms inside Erik's underground house was pitch black, and Christine couldn't see a thing as she made her way through the house…it made her panic. Deep, primal fear of the dark gripped her; she had never been afraid of the dark when Erik was with her, but now she felt herself tremble with animalistic terror. She swallowed thickly as she fumbled her way through the different rooms, the only thing she could hear being her own ragged breathing and the sound of the wet bridal dress dragging across the floor. The chilled skirts hitting her legs made her shiver with cold, and her heartbeat roared inside her ears.

Where was he? It was if he had vanished…he wasn't in the music room, the sitting room, or his own bedroom. Then suddenly it dawned on her; how could she possibly have been so stupid? Her hand was shaking so badly as she reached out her hand towards the doorknob that led to her old room that she could hardly get it opened. Finally she succeeded, and she stepped inside. On the nightstand a single wax light was burning, providing the tiniest source of light for her to see him. His powerful, broad-shouldered form was hunched over, sitting on the side of the swan bed in which she had spent so many nights. The sight was so pitiful that the rush of tears that had welled up inside of her prevented her from speaking.

She did not know how long she stood in the door…it seemed forever. She couldn't move, but when Erik's amber eyes connected with hers, she was rattled out of her apathy. She had never thought his eyes would be able to reflect more grief than they had before, but now… Her entire being ached with the knowledge that it was she who had put it there. She looked down on her hands and regretfully pulled the sparkling ring off her finger. Christine's steps were heavy as she slowly walked towards Erik, taking a gentle hold of his right wrist, strong and powerful in her small hand, and turned it so the palm was facing her she put the ring down on its broad plane. Choking on her tears she curled his fingers around the ring, hiding its radiance, hiding the physical tie of their love. She turned around swiftly, not able to look at him anymore, but his other hand closed around her arm, and she froze. He could not let her go, he would never be able to let go of her, and she would be forever trapped.

He wasn't speaking as he opened his mouth but _singing_, and Christine's heart trembled in her breast. "Christine, I love you." He put down the ring on the bed and took a hold of the white wedding gown. "I love you". She slowly turned around and looked down upon the horrid flesh of his face that was turned up towards hers. She had passed the point where his face disgusted her; it didn't matter to her anymore, as she had told him…it was in his soul where the true distortion lay, and it was too late. Letting go of her arm he fell to his knees before her and fisted his other hand in her skirts as well. Christine sank down upon the bed and threw her arms around the man who sobbed at her feet. As he cried she rocked him gently in her pale arms, like a mother comforts her child. Her head bowed over him, her tears fell on his hair.

She might have set him free with her kiss, but their love could still never be.

Yes, this was indeed the last _chapter_, but there is still the epilogue to write, and as bonus info I can tell you that I'm planning to rewrite the first 15 chapters or so, as I think my writing style has developed a great deal since I published the first chapter of the story.

And I hope you don't all hate me for not making it an E/C ending. I can tell you it was what I had planned first, but it was just impossible when I came to this point.


	24. Epilogue

**A/N: **I regret to announce that this is the end. It has been a long and harsh journey to finish this story, but when I read it through and read its reviews I know it was worth it. This story is my baby and has heavily influenced my writing style on my own fictional works.

As I told you in the last chapter, I'm planning to rewrite a lot of the first chapters, so keep an eye up for that, though I don't know when I shall get it done sheepish smile

Currently I'm writing an "Anne of Green Gables fiction", one shot though – I think – so if that tickles your fancy keep an eye out for it. Apart from these mentioned activities, I don't know if I shall get much written on this site. I am going to concentrate on the stories that are completely mine for some time.

A huge thank you for Bondaged Vampiresa my beta reader, who is more than a beta reader, she's a friend.

And then of course an absolutely humongous thank you to all of my faithful readers, those who have reviewed and those who haven't, I'm just happy if I have moved you with my story.

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Once, as my heart remembers,  
All the stars were falling embers.  
Once, when night seemed forever  
I was with you.

Once, in the care of morning  
In the air was all belonging.  
Once, when that day was dawning.  
I was with you.

How far we are from morning.  
How far we are  
And the stars shining through the darkness,  
Falling in the air.

Once, as the night was leaving  
Into us our dreams were weaving.  
Once, all dreams were worth keeping.  
I was with you.

Once, when our hearts were singing,  
I was with you.

Enya, Fallen Embers

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Epilogue

_It was the 4'Th of April 1880 the day Raoul and I married, only two days after the disaster in the dungeons. It was the first warm and sunny day in the year, and I still remember what mockery I felt it was, warmth and sunshine just after such a tragedy had happened, though I knew that Raoul saw it as a good omen. _

_My sweet, dear Raoul, He left his family and his country to marry me, and we settled in London. I don't ever think a better man has ever walked this earth, and I don't ever think that a woman has ever had a better husband than I had in Raoul. In return I strived to be the perfect wife to Raoul, and though I loved him dearly, I despised myself for being able to give him what he wanted the most, my heart… _

_What saved us from the unspoken questions and truths on our marriage was our son, Charles. He was the only person, since my father that I have ever been able to love unconditionally. He was my solace and my pride, and now every time I look at him my heart swells with pride of seeing the man he has become. He has never been very interested in his duties as a nobleman, he inherited my love for music, and in spite of I never sung a single tune since I left Erik, I encouraged Charles in his love for music. Sometimes when I've seen him bend over the keys of the piano, I could imagine how it would be like if he was Erik's son, probably the worst deceit of Raoul's love I have committed. _

_Erik – still after twenty five years the name brings me pain. Not a single day goes by without he has entered my mind, he was the love of my life. No man and woman have ever shared a love greater than what I and Erik had, but fate is such a treacherous thing. When he finally found me he was too crippled by the cruelties of the world, it was too late. As I told him so many years ago, it was the distortion on his mind, heart and soul that was his true one. _

_I have told the story, the true story about Erik, the man and the phantom, the story of out love, and the story of Raoul, who was doomed to come between us. I know that I have not much time left in this world, I see it in the worried eyes of my doctor, but I know longer fear death, because in death I know I shall see him again. _

_Countess Christine De Chagny, November 15''Th, 1905_

_----- _

Raoul had always hated November, there was nothing good about the month, cold, gloomy and utterly depressing, it seemed fitting that it were to be this month his wife would die. It was several days ago that Doctor Morris had told him that the cancer was so far advanced that he could nothing else than to relieve her of her pains until she passed into the next world. Not knowing how much longer he could stand to see her twist around in fever, her mouth curving in a smile one second, opening in soundless screams the next, he had let the doctor put her into the morphine induced slumber. Raoul hadn't left her side since.

Charles had not been able to deal with the pain of his mother's future death, and he was spending his time at the piano the most of the time, with his godmother, Meg Giry, or Horvath as her married name was. His face was ashen with fatigue as he sat in the deep armchair next to the large bed that had been his and Christine's for almost twenty five years. A marriage that would soon end with her death and the thought filled Raoul with fear. He had loved Christine for almost his entire life, and going on without her was a gloomy prospect.

His gaze fell on the bouquet of red roses that stood on the nightstand beside her, and sighed deeply. She had never allowed red roses into the house until the day she had been forced to stay in bed because of the cancer. He remembered the day of their first year anniversary when he had given her red roses, she had cried so hard that he had thrown them out and bought her pink ones instead. He hadn't asked any questions when she had asked him for red roses, he knew in his heart it had something to do with the phantom, but he didn't want to know it.

"Raoul" Christine's whisper was so faint that he almost didn't hear it, but when he looked down on her, she had opened her eyes, she usually so bright blue depths were bloodshot, but they were completely conscious. Raoul kneeled down beside the bed "are you all right Christine, you want me to fetch the doctor?"

"No don't send for him, I need to tell you something" Christine said, and her chest lifted in gasps after the effort it was to speak. Raoul lifted his hand to his mouth, to hold back the sudden need to cry. After they both had collected themselves Raoul moved his hand to her greying hair and stroked it softly. "I want you to forgive me Raoul" she whispered, and she gasped for breath "I beg you"

A few tears slipped down Raoul's cheeks, he knew what she was speaking of, and he nodded "I promise Christine, I have forgiven you". She smiled and cried a little herself, before speaking again. "And whatever you might have believed Raoul I have always loved you in my own way" the tears were rolling down his cheeks freely now "Poor unhappy Raoul" she whispered and with those words her head felt limply to the side.

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_Her feet were carrying her down the long tunnel, she was not afraid; she knew the way, even in darkness. There was something calmingly familiar about the rocky floor underneath her feet. She had been down it many times before. With her hands stretched out in front of her, her fingers encountered a handle. _

"_CHRISTINE!"_

_She halted with her hand on the handle, and looked behind her where the scream had come from. A faint spot of light was at the other end of the tunnel, and she could hear faint echoes of her name coming from the light. But her hand pulled open the door, her curiosity getting the better of her. She stopped, the darkness that crept out to her from the open door was an entirely different kind than what she was wrapped in now. Looking back towards the light again, she was about to close the door again when a voice whispered her name._

"_Christine…" she halted again and looked into the blinding darkness, she knew that voice "Erik?" she whispered back, and ignored the echoes from the light. _

"_Cast your eyes on the ocean… Cast your soul to the sea…When the dark night seems endless…Please remember me" _

_She stepped forward onto the very brink of the darkness, and reached out a hand, while the other held tight onto the door frame. "Erik is it you?" she whispered. _

"_Yes… Why are you not coming?" his voice, more beautiful than Raphael's choir of angels could have been, resonated in her head "It's so dark" she said tremblingly. Erik chuckled softly, and Christine's heart made a little leap at the sound "haven't I told you don't need to fear the darkness when you're with me?" he asked softly. _

"_Yes" she replied "Then what are you waiting for?" his voice taking on a taunting sound "Are you going to run off like you did the last time?" she shook her head forcefully and stepped forward, she was not afraid of anything any longer. Everything disappeared around her and she screamed "ERIK!" a pair of strong arms enveloped her, and sung softly "Take these crumpled hopes, etched with tears, we'll rise above these earthly cares" it was the last thing Christine heard before she too disappeared, her soul soaring with his voice. _


End file.
